A Broken Circle
by Apprentice To The Dark Side
Summary: It has been three years since Qui-Gon's failed padawan. It has been three weeks since La'Ana's master died. When Yoda asks Qui-Gon to take on a temporary padawan, Qui-Gon will have to face his demons. Will they find love?  PLEASE REVIEW! Qui-Gon/OC
1. Chapter 1: Midnight Spar

Lightsabers met in a flash of sparks and shuddering electrical charge. Blue met red, and the elegant weapons struck each other again, more forcefully this time. She danced out of the way of the training droid, parrying its blow, and struck again, only to be thwarted by the robotic skills of the preprogrammed droid. She twisted backwards to avoid a strike to the small of her back but it was no use. The lightsaber, set to a low setting - or _medium rare_, as the Padawan learners in the 'fresher called it - kissed her back and left a sizzling stripe on her tanned skin. She gave a little yelp and jerked left, burying her blue lightsaber to the hilt in the droid's metal armor. There were more sparks, but these ones were dying embers of the droid's circuitry. She stood there, feeling a moment of grim satisfaction as the droid sputtered in death. Her dark green eyes were once more soaked with tears, but she refused to allow them to spill onto her cheeks. Anger spiked her chest again and she gave a guttural roar of primal hatred and stabbed the droid once more with her lightsaber, impaling the electronic weapon in the hard-packed dirt of the arena floor. She knelt there for a moment, both hands on the hilt of her blade, her chest heaving.

She got up and clicked her lightsaber off. It had been the only illumination in the dark arena, and now the ghostly shadows seemed larger and more frightening. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple and she wiped it off with her damp wrist. A fine sheen of sweat was coating her taut body, and she ignored the drafty breeze that chilled her wet skin. Her thick black hair clung in cords to her beaded temple, and she looked with a morbid kind of pleasure at the ruined bot. It would take several hours to fix it, and she told herself that she was being cruel, but she buzzed her lightsaber back on and began slashing wildly at the bot. When the training droid was nothing more than slivers of metal shards, she allowed a heaving dry sob to rattle around the empty arena. Dropping to her knees, she clicked off her lightsaber and stared at the shattered droid. Her green eyes were dark with suppressed tears and wet with moisture, but she refused to allow the tears to spill onto her cheeks which were flushed from her training.

She was so deep within herself that she didn't hear the door to the arena opening, nor did she hear the telltale shuffling step of Master Yoda, accompanied by the muted thump of his cane. "Up late, you are," Yoda croaked as he watched the young girl. She shot to her feet and spun around, scuffing nervously at her dark eyes before fully facing him. She would not let him see her cry. Never. She bowed slightly to the small alien and he accepted this gesture with a regal nod. He could feel her anger, grief, self-hatred, and thwarted fatherly love being bottled up inside her. He grimaced to himself. Sooner or later she would have to let all of that emotion out, and if it was held inside any longer the results would undoubtedly be fatal.

"Forgive me, Master Yoda. I couldn't sleep and I thought I'd practice a little before I went to bed." she said lamely. Decapitating a harmless training droid and then carving it into tiny pieces was not practicing. That was cruelly making some poor metal smith work an extra two hours trying to put it back together. She slipped her lightsaber back into the loop of her belt and turned her dark green eyes to the floor. He surveyed her silently, watching her carefully.

"Elusive, sleep is, when one is fighting, no?" Yoda asked, beginning to slowly circle her. She tensed and felt the back of her neck prickle. She hated being approached from behind but she forced herself to remain calm. The hairs on the back of her neck rose involuntarily and her fingers snapped into fists. Her sensibly short nails dug into the palms of her hands, cutting dark half-moons into the flesh.

"It's the only way I can sleep," she admitted softly, relaxing her ferocious grip on her hands when Yoda was once more in front of her. "I…" she trailed off. What was she going to do? Was she actually going to open herself up to the small green alien in front of her and admit she had been having nightmares? She mentally snorted at herself. _You're going soft, girl_, she told herself.

"Yes?" Yoda asked. She cursed herself thrice for a fool. She shook her head and took a step backwards, pushing the shards of metal into a little pile with her foot. She clasped her hands behind her back and gave a little dismissive bow, and turned away from him. She ought to be giving him more respect, she knew that, but she didn't care. In fact, she didn't care about much, right now. Behind her, she heard Yoda sigh deeply, then leave. The door to the arena boomed shut softly. She waited until she heard the sound of his cane tap-tap-tapping down the hallway, and then viciously sent the droid pieces scattering across the floor with a sweep of her foot. She then picked up the pieces, hurling them against the walls until the crashes were satisfactorily loud and the jaggedly sharp edges cut into her palms. When this was done, she collapsed to her knees and began to cry, silently, to herself.

Yoda sighed as he watched her sob to herself, watched her sides quake, and shut the door without a sound. Shuffling slowly back up to his room, he grasped a digital pen in his gnarled fist and began composing a holo-message to Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.


	2. Chapter 2: Decisions

_She sat alone in the dining hall, off in the corner by herself as she stared sadly at the pile of food the cooks had heaped on her plate. She dully considered hurling the plate to the floor, but it would only cause a scene. And, it would show how deeply she had been hurt. She picked at her food, impaling one sliver of a neatly sliced chunk of Bantha meat, which was today's special. She ate it slowly, tasting the muted flavor of wild game perfuming her mouth as she chewed and swallowed. Her stomach was very full, but not with food. The meat tasted rubbery as it slithered unpleasantly down her throat, and she almost gagged. She was most definitely not hungry. Her ears pricked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, and she glanced up. When she saw the small, familiar Twi'Lek in front of her, she almost burst into tears again. It was her friend, Clah'Diam. The Twi'Lek glanced at her worriedly and sat next to her. "Ana? You okay?" she asked softly. "I heard about Master Wathearu. I'm terribly sorry." Underneath her pale blue skin, she was slightly flushed and there were tears in her beautiful eyes. "I know how close you two were."_

_La'Ana stabbed a piece of meat moodily and stared at it as though it were a Sith itself. "I miss him." she said, surprising herself. Her throat was suddenly very small and hard to speak through. "I keep thinking I'll turn around and there he'll be, smiling at me. Training doesn't do anything either, but it's the only way I can sleep. As long as I'm tired, I can't think." Clah'Diam reached across the table and squeezed her hand tightly, two tears forging tracks down her pale blue cheeks. _

"_Oh, Ana," she murmured. "I heard about last night. You made quite a ruckus down in the arena. One of the Healers came to see what was the matter, but you were already gone." Ana knew guilt should be stabbing her heart right now, but all she felt was a cloudy kind of primal pleasure. Good_, she thought. _I hope they had to clean up that mess in the middle of the night. I hope they couldn't get back to sleep afterwards. See how _they_ like it, not being able to sleep. At least when _they _sleep, they don't have nightmares. _They_ don't see their Master dying over and over again. _

"I trashed a training droid," she said after a moment, her dark green eyes on her plate of food. "Totally desecrated the sucker. He got me pretty good, though," she added, reaching inside her robes to finger to angry burn mark on her lower back. Clah'Diam clucked sympathetically and gave Ana's hand one final squeeze. The Twi'Lek arranged the thick tentacle that was draped over one shoulder and gave Ana a sad look.

"Ruining equipment won't do any good. Go to the library and read a bit. If you want, I can recommend a few good books in Ryl. You need to start practicing again. You'll go rusty if you don't speak Ryl constantly." Clah'Diam suggested. Ana's dark green eyes flashed with anger once, a hard bright flare that allowed a tiny bit of the rage she had seep through. She slammed down her fork and flared hard at her only friend.

"Look, Clah'Diam, I don't _want_ to read books in some stupid language I've hardly ever heard of. I don't _want_ to go to the library and I don't _want_ to read! I don't care if I get rusty, and I hope I never speak Ryl again in my life!" by the end of her tirade her voice has risen to a cracked shout. Unaware that the entire dining hall was listening in, she fled, leaving the tray on her table and slamming the door closed behind her. Clah'Diam watched her go with a sorrowful look, then began to eat her Bantha meat.

Qui-Gon scrolled through the digital message for the third time, his sharp blue eyes intensifying as he re-read the message from Master Yoda. It made no sense to him, what Yoda was proposing. Train the girl for a year? What then? According to the message, La'Ana was twenty two, hardly old enough to begin the Trials. She would need far more than a year to get over the loss of her Master. He should know. Three years had eclipsed since Xanantos had turned, and he still wasn't over it. Even now, nightmares still plagued his sleep. He sighed and went over to the window, folding his hands into his sleeves, allowing the sun to warm his beard and face.

It was going to be a beautiful day in Corscourant. The sunlight flirted with the edges of the stark metal buildings, heating the surfaces which had just cooled down only hours ago. Already vendors were setting up trading booths and polishing fruit for their stands, wheeling their carts out to the streets. There was one brilliant, bedazzling flash of sun, and one of the fiery orbs which heated the planet broke free from its tethers and began making its programmed course overhead. He almost closed his eyes against the fiery majesty of it, but the sky was bedecked with all the colors you could possible imagine. Purple streaked the horizon nearest to the ground, painted with overtones of inky black, and red was seared onto the layer on top of that. Orange was burnished into the red, yellow fused into the orange, and finally a white glare overshadowed everything. Above that was a gentle pink that kissed the sky sweetly, and above that was the first flickering of cobalt that was beginning to streak across the sky.

He turned from the window and looked once more at the digi-message. La'Ana, her name was. Twenty two and _opinionated_, which was how Yoda had described her. He had thoughtfully included a few of Master Wathearu's notes on his Padawan, which Qui-Gon had not yet gone through yet. With a mental sigh, he began scrolling down to the bottom of the message so he could view the notes Wathearu had scribbled about his _opinionated_ Padawan.

_I do not know what possessed me to take on another Padawan, but I could not resist this one. La'Ana Shaddem is her name, and I could not take my eyes off of her. She is only ten, but she already has a face and a temper to match those of a twenty year old. Thank the Force I am patient, otherwise I would be at the end of my rope with this little girl. Just the other day she point-blank refused to bow to Master Windu, invoking a rather lusty howl of laughter from my old friend. _

_La'Ana - or Ana, as she prefers me to call her - has developed a strong bond with me of late. I fear this will harm her in later life, as she already has a crowd of friends at the Academy, but nothing I say will penetrate her obstinate little fifteen-year-old-head. But she is learning quickly, and her grasp and knowledge of the Force is astonishing for a girl her age. She has much to learn of the Living Force and on meditation, but I suppose that will come with time. _

_In a very short amount of time Ana has managed to drive away her friends except one Twi'Lek which has won her favor in some way. She is now hopelessly loyal to me, and I admit I am quite fond of the little hellion myself. She has a certain bullying charisma that is quite appealing, and makes up for her lack of womanly charms. However, she has been struggling of late with controlling her temper. She has been provoked into three fights in the last two months, and I fear that her volatile temper and quick tongue will forever silence those who care for her. _

Qui-Gon put the digi-pad down and rubbed his temples. It was all eerily familiar, all very déjà vu. She reminded him of someone that he couldn't put his finger on. For a strange reason, he wanted to see her. A nagging voice - coincidentally, a nagging voice which had not left his head since Xanantos turned - spoke up in his head, reminding him forcibly of his past failures with his last Padawan. He ignored it with some difficulty and looked once more out the window, hoping for the fabulous color display, but there was nothing but a hard, bright sky of clearest cerulean. An omen or not, he decided on one thing. He would go to the Temple tomorrow and talk to this La'Ana woman. If it felt right, and the Force was with him, he would see about her becoming his Padawan.

It was not until he was deep in meditation before he realized that Ana reminded him almost completely of Xanantos when he was a boy.


	3. Chapter 3: Advice

The sun was blazingly hot as it beat down on the various Masters and their Padawans as they sparred furiously. Dust hung in the air from the tracks they were kicking up, and the dirt clung to their sweaty bodies. Ana was off to the side on a bench, sipping water from a small cup. Her dark green eyes were roving over the arena floor that she had only recently decapitated with a training droid. Her face was expressionless as she watched them, and then she spat out of the corner of her mouth. Normally she would be training with her Master at this time, or they would be meditating in the gardens, but now she was alone. And it was a slight fear that gnawed at her, the fear of being alone. She massaged her temples and folded her hands over her mouth, closing her eyes as if in prayer. She dwelled in the little place inside her head that she so often retreated to, a place where her fondest memories of her Master were stored. He had been more than a Master: He was a brother, a father, a friend, a confidante. She trusted him explicitly.

She had no idea that two people were watching her intently. Master Mace Windu and Master Qui-Gon Jinn were both studying the dark haired girl closely as they sat in the shade of a spreading oak. The large gnarled oak tree was one of the very few plants that grew on the almost entirely metal planet, and it was very dear to the Jedi Temple. Qui-Gon felt the craggy grooves of the bark underneath his fingers as he watched the distant shape of La'Ana, the girl he was supposed to meet. From this distance, he could only make out the barest details, but he could tell she had a mop of curly, unruly black hair that was shorn quite short, lacking the traditional Padawan braid in back. "She has been through much," Master Windu said after a moment of peaceful silence. "Three times she has been before the Council, and each time she has not been able to tell us how Wathearu died."

"You do not know how he died?" Qui-Gon asked, surprised. "What about the rest of her report?" he inquired. Mace shrugged, his flat brown eyes watching the girl who was still sitting by herself on the edge of the training arena. She had not moved from her earlier position, and he wondered privately what she was doing.

"We know from his body that it was blaster fire, and we gathered from the report she gave us that they walked into an ambush. However, when she was questioned on why they were in the encampment, she could not continue. Master Yoda believes the girl harbors some guilt over the matter. Most Padawans would, but the two of them were especially close. Expect some resistance when you begin training her." Mace warned. Qui-Gon's eyes never left Ana's still form.

"What was the mission about?" he asked quietly. Mace sighed.

"They were going to planet Al-Kahrid to restore peace to the trading order. Apparently corrupt politicians were monopolizing the trade route on the planet. Master Wathearu and Padawan Shaddem were strictly liaisons. There was no combat expected." Mace answered.

"And yet there was," Qui-Gon murmured to himself. "I suspect the girl was at some fault. It is the most likely reason she will not give a full report." Mace nodded solemnly and folded his hands into his robes.

"Master Yoda and the rest of the Council - myself included - believe the same. We fear for La'Ana's safety. Her guilt and anger will lead her path dangerously close to the Dark Side. It is crucial that she begin a training regime at once, to help her cope with her emotions. Will you take her as an apprentice?" Mace asked. Doubt was still fluttering at the edges of Qui-Gon's mind, and he didn't answer for a long moment.

"I must speak with her first. If the Force is with me, I will accept her. However, I am wondering why Master Yoda contacted me instead of another Knight. I can think of several who would be better adapted to suit a short-term Padawan than myself." Qui-Gon said. Mace looked at Qui-Gon with a slight aura of surprise.

"I thought it was obvious, my friend. You have both failed in some way; you with your Padawan, and she with her Master. You are both broken and weary of the Order. There are similarities between the two of you that are uncanny. Master Yoda and I thought it best that you take on another Padawan to relieved your guilt, and she needs a Master as soon as possible to ease hers. Three weeks have already eclipsed for La'Ana, and time is running short. She must begin training as soon as possible." Mace answered.

Their attention was drawn to Ana down at the arena, who was finally making a move. A small, stocky Twi'Lek was talking to her. Even with their keen hearing, it was too far away to understand their conversation. However, the Twi'Lek must have said something that convinced Ana not to sit and mope, because the black-haired girl got up and the pair of them moved to the center of the arena. They unsheathed their lightsabers and bowed to each other. The Twi'Lek had an orange 'saber, and La'Ana had a blue one. After a brief moment of talk - most likely discussing the mode of spar - the duel began.

They were suited to one another very well. La'Ana was fast and she parried and struck with eerie elegance, while the stocky Twi'Lek was more powerful and slightly slower. Their blades met in a shuddering charge and Ana twisted her blade to the left, ripping it free from the Twi'Lek's lightsaber parry. The two Jedi Masters had to admire their footwork; both of the women's feet never stayed in one place for long. They danced around each other, twisting and ducking in a strange dance that only ones in battle can dance to. Ana's feet jumped clear off the ground and she somersaulted between the Twi'Lek's legs as she blocked yet another blow from the small alien. However, Clah'Diam was ready for her and spun around swiftly, feinting to the right and then striking out at the slim girl.

Then, just as quickly as it had ensued, it was over. Clah'Diam's orange lightsaber made sizzling contact with Ana's upper arm, searing a crackling stripe of red onto her skin. Ana yelped slightly, and lowered her blade. "You win," the girl conceded, examining the welt. "Good strike. I thought I had you when I somersaulted." Clah'Diam wiped the sweat off her pale blue brow and smiled at her friend.

"So did I. When did you learn that? It was most incredible. You must teach me sometime, it was the last thing I expected." Clah'Diam said. Ana got to her feet and clicked off her lightsaber, then dusted off her hands on her outer robe. Usually Ana took off her outer robe, but she hadn't expected a long fight. Clah'Diam was a very talented duelist, and Ana was still struggling with it.

"Master taught it to me just before the mission. It was a rather unnecessary move in a friendly battle, but sometimes in a firefight an unexpected maneuver can save your life. He always used to say that the best duelist can be defeated by a trick he doesn't know. Besides, it wasn't that fancy." Ana said after a moment. "Just a kick and a slide. We can practice, if you want."

"You ought to talk to those gentlemen first," the small blue Twi'Lek said. "They've done nothing but stare at you for a half an hour." Ana twisted and looked at Master Windu and Master Jinn who were both still under the oak tree. She then turned away from them dismissively.

"They haven't called me yet. For all I know, they're talking about you. I have no desire to interrupt their conversation when it might not even concern me." Ana reasoned. It was a very lame excuse, and Clah'Diam knew it, but the stocky alien wisely said nothing. Changing the subject, Ana headed over to the water cooler and in search of shade. "Does your Master think you are ready for the Trials yet?"

"I think I am ready, but Master Duam thinks I need more time," Clah'Diam admitted. "I need to learn to control the Force better, is what I think he said." Ana snorted and dumped a cup of water over her head. The droplets of water glistened for a moment in her thick black hair, then evaporated in the blistering heat.

"Perhaps, but I believe you're ready. You're more talented than anybody I know, and I think Master Duam is going blind. How old is he, nearly seventy?" Ana said scornfully. The deep, rumbling voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin.

"Sixty eight, I believe," said the growl behind her. The rumble was spiked with a note of amusement. "Which is a perfectly acceptable age for a Jedi Knight of Master Duam's stature and confidence." Ana spun around and was met face to face with Qui-Gon Jinn for the first time in her life. Her eyes narrowed as she sized him up.

He was handsome, in an older way, with a clean profile and a slight beard circling his jaw. His hair was tied back and descended to his shoulders, and his hands were tucked thoughtfully into his sleeves. A pair of striking blue orbs looked back at her, and one eyebrow was arched in an expression of slight good humor. His eyes were really quite remarkable; smoky blue discs of dark cerulean, ringed with a cloudy layer of gray. The roomy robes he wore was of the traditional garb of a Jedi Knight, but she could see the size of his biceps through the material. He was a hulking man, nearly six foot three, with a barrel chest and large, well defined muscles. She bowed to him in a gesture of respect that was a beat behind Clah'Diam's solemn bow.

"Of course, Master Jinn," Clah'Diam said, recovering her wits. "I am very pleased with Master Duam's teaching. I could not ask for a better teacher." Qui-Gon nodded, his dark blue-gray eyes focused on the slim black-haired girl in front of him who was now regarding with something akin to suspicion.

She was slim, with long legs and a tapered waist, but she lacked the curvaceous form that belonged to her Twi'Lek friend. Her black hair was mussed and damp from the liquid she had dumped over her head, yet this had done nothing to tame the wild tangle of curls that didn't even touch her ears. Her dark green eyes were the color of evergreens in winter, and right at this moment there was a spark of defiance in them. She was very short, hardly coming up to Qui-Gon's bulky chest, but somehow she managed to give the appearance of height. Her wrists and ankles were very small, and supplied a definition to the word 'petite'. "Can I help you, Master Jinn?" La'Ana said with a subtle note of frosty anger in her voice. Qui-Gon could practically see the icicle covered words.

"I merely wished to make your acquaintance. I saw you and your friend sparring. You suit each other quite well. May I duel you?" he asked politely. He was pleased to see the surprise that registered in her eyes, and then it was covered by an unfathomable mask that he remembered seeing on several war victims. Her eyes were nothing but glossy blank discs now, but her eyebrows raised slightly to give the air of interest.

"I'm afraid my experience in dueling does not extend to battling Jedi Knights. The only person I have dueled with other than my master would be Clah'Diam, my friend over here." Ana said, gesturing lazily to the stocky Twi'Lek that was now looking almost horrified at her friend's insolent tone. "Clah'Diam and I have dueled each other for years. We know each other well, and that is why you were impressed by what you saw. Our forms and statures fit one another while we duel, and my late Master and I were also a good match. If you'll excuse me, I must be going. I have a class that I must study for before the bell." she swept off without formally bidding him goodbye.

He watched her go for a minute, and he felt the smoking anger and grief in the Force that was surrounding her. He was saddened for a moment; the girl had no wish to be trained. Then he heard the small voice of the short Twi'Lek at his elbow. "Master Jinn, this is not my business, and I know you have no reason to share this information with me…but are you seeking to instruct Ana?"

He smiled slightly at the inquisitive little alien, admiring her gold-coin eyes that were blinking slowly. The fiery Ana and the cool-blooded Clah'Diam made a most unlikely match. "You are not out of line, Clah'Diam. Yes, I am considering taking La'Ana as my Padawan. The Council asked if I would meet her and ask her to be my apprentice." he said.

There was a long silence as Clah'Diam struggled with herself for a moment, then sighed and turned back to Qui-Gon. "Master Jinn, you will not win her with words. She is hurt and guilty, and she will not bend to your wishes easily. Her respect is not easily won. I have been hard pressed just to remain her friend, and I can only imagine the battle you will undertake to make her your apprentice. May the Force be with you, Master Jinn." Clah'Diam said, then left.

"Thank you, Clah'Diam," Qui-Gon murmured to himself. "I have a feeling I am going to need it."

_A/N: Thank you SO MUCH to my two lovely reviewers! You both get a chocolate covered cookie with a scoop of ripple-fudge ice cream. Oh, and trust me. There WILL be romance, and probably smut in later chapters. :)_


	4. Chapter 4: Reluctant Acceptance

He followed her inside the Temple, down the twisting corridors and around sharp corners, seeing by her rapid gait and clenched fists that she was doing all she could not to punch a wall or two in frustration. She took another corner and delved even deeper into the labyrinth of the Temple, hurrying down into a sparsely lit hallway with precious few windows and a slightly disused feeling. There was another eerie feeling of déjà vu pricking at the back of Qui-Gon's mind, and he with a slight jolt he realized where she was going. It was a path he had trodden many times during his intensive training at the Jedi Temple, and it led to the expansively dusty library. He couldn't quite recall the exact interior of the vaulted room, but he remembered the hours he had spent frantically searching for the answer to a particularly tricky question his master asked him. If he wasn't trying to impress his former Master - which had been Count Dooku (_Sith, I feel old_) - it would be spent curled in a corner pursuing a dry scroll which went into infinite detail on the complexities of trading systems in outer rim planets.

Fortunately, he was in time to see her yank open the massive stone doors to the library and storm inside, leaving behind a virtual trail of anger and grief in the Force, the emotional ripple swelling to a tidal wave whence she was fully inside the doors. He sped up slightly and caught the edge of the door before it slammed shut and slipped inside with scarcely a sound. He needn't have bothered with being so quiet - he could have led a fully-grown male Bantha in the prime of mating season inside the library, and he doubted that either the furious Padawan nor the ancient librarian would had noticed. The librarian was a hawk-nosed Jedi with a pair of rimless spectacles perched on his beaky nose. His eyes were pasted to a scroll which was apparently extremely interesting, because he neither glanced nor acknowledged Qui-Gon or La'Ana's arrival. He merely licked a finger and unrolled a bit more of the scroll.

He found her on a window seat, her knees locked tightly to her chest as she stared out the window. The window panes were so dusty it was hard to believe they had ever been anything other that opaque, but Ana must have owned a preciously vivid imagination, because the lack of viewing didn't seem to bother her. Also, he strongly suspected that she could have been staring at a brick wall and she would have seen the same thing. Her green eyes were suddenly very bright and hard as she glared at the glass; her fingers curled into tight fists as she considered smashing a window. The cheeky Knight - waltzing up to her and asking her to spar! She knew she was being angry over the most ridiculous thing in her life, but she had to be angry at something. And Master I'm-so-important-I'll-ask-you-to-spar Jinn was a perfect target, seeing as she knew practically nothing about him.

Master I'm-so-important-I'll-ask-you-to-spar Jinn was watching her with something of a pitying look in his dark blue eyes. Her eyes were suddenly very dark and wet; he wagered she would burst into tears, but she exhibited a remarkably unhealthy self-restraint and suppressed them with a few deep breaths that sounded like dry sobs. She buried her face in her locked arms and knees and gritted her teeth. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't, she wouldn't! The urge to bawl her eyes out vanished all of a sudden as she bit down on her arm slightly. The wave of an almost insurmountable self-pity dissolved, and she was left with a foolishly angry feeling. She was so deep into her savage thoughts that she almost didn't hear the deep voice posing a sincerely sympathetic question to her.

Almost, but no quite. "Are you all right, La'Ana?" he asked in a gentle growl. Her head jerked up, and he saw her eyes were fiercely dry. She pertained more stubbornness than he had originally thought. For an instant, the pettish and childish desire to throw a temper tantrum greatly appealed to her for a moment, and then it passed. She expelled a whoosh of air from her lungs, wishing she could dispel the grief in her heart that easily.

"Perfectly fine, Master Jinn." she said brusquely. "I didn't think Master's knew about the library. I admit I am one of the only students who uses it."

"All Masters were once Padawans, La'Ana," he reminded her. "And you might be surprised to learn that I was one of the few students who frequented this library when I was an apprentice." For a moment, a dull sort of interest piqued her eyes and stayed there, then it flickered down to a tempered look of slight attention.

"Fascinating." she said shortly. The sarcasm that icily spiked each word did not go amiss by Qui-Gon. Suddenly she got up and went over to him. Once again he noted how very small and slim she was. If it wasn't for her regally mature face, her diminutive height suggested a fifteen year old. "May I ask why you are suddenly so interested in my affairs, Master Jinn?" she asked coldly. The tone she was using would have been promptly squashed upon by her former master, Wathearu, but she was confident that this Knight - despite his senior years and obviously large stronghold of accumulated wisdom - would never be her master. In the next sentence he blew her factual thought to smithereens.

"Because I have been asked by the Council to train you for a period of one year. I wish you to be my Padawan learner." Qui-Gon said simply. The black shock that was written on her face in permanent marker was bordering on priceless, but there was so much venom in the next glare she gave him that any thought of humor was sat upon.

"I have only one master in this world, _Master Jinn_," she hissed angrily. "And it is due to my severe disobedience and incompetence that he is now one with the Force. You will never be my Master, and neither will anyone else. I have no desire of completing my training; I will withdraw myself from the Order and -"

She got no further. Qui-Gon moved faster than she would have believed possible for a man of his considerable size and practically pinned her against the wall. Despite the swiftness and suddenness of this action, his dark blue eyes were serene yet firm. "You are not thinking clearly," he said in that growl of a voice that slapped her back to reality. "You are allowing your emotions to get the better of you and not releasing your energy into the Force. Think clearly, La'Ana! You are a talented Jedi, and eventually you will make a strong Knight. But you allow your feelings to control you. Think first, and then act! Your training must be completed. If you will not have me as a Master I am sure the Council will assign a less patient man to tame your temper." He paused, and for the first time she saw a scar in his serenity, a hairline crack in his peaceful exterior. "Know this, La'Ana. I have failed a Padawan, and I vowed on that day that I would never take another as long as I lived. If you accept me as a Master, I will risk breaking this vow in order for you to fulfill your destiny and complete your training."

She pushed herself out of his firm grasp and sat down hard on the window seat. Her breathing was very hard to catch for some reason, and her throat felt like she had swallowed a block of concrete. The urge to cry once again assaulted her system, but she forced this and the stone lump back down into her stomach. She remembered the crack in his composure when he mentioned his failed Padawan. Visible only by this sliver was the utter magnitude of his grief. For a moment, kinship flared in her chest as she recognized another grieving soul. They were both guilt-ridden and full of anger, both treading water with their emotions as they swam dangerously close to the Dark Side. She licked her lips, passing her parched tongue over her cracked lips as she considered. Now that her moment of hysteria had passed, she was able to contemplate for a brief second. Would Wathearu want her to complete her training? She drew back on one of the first memories she had of him, their first lesson…

_The feel of his calloused hands around her small chubby ones. Hot sun blazing her back. Cool breeze ruffling her newly shorn hair, tied in back in a small braid of all Padawans. Pride nipped at her heart. She was the first in her dormitory to get a Padawan braid. She was daydreaming again, imagining the day she would be able to hold a lightsaber aloft with one hand and dazzle the Council with hitherto unsuspected skills. The dry rasp of her new Master's voice broke her elaborate daydream. "Ana! Pay attention. Look, sweep and slice." He slowly repeated the move with his hands still wrapped around hers. Then he released her. "You try by yourself now. Use both hands if you have to." _

_She struggled for a moment with the heavy lightsaber, then gripped it hard with both of her small hands. The grooved metal handle carved ridges into her soft palms, and she swung it clumsily in a repeated maneuver of the one he had shown her. The humming blade sliced neatly through the air, and pride bit down savagely on her heart as she completed the simplistic motion. She turned her chubby face towards Wathearu and saw a glimmer of pride in his unflinching black eyes. "Very good. Again." She repeated it over and over until it was perfect, and then he made her do it some more. "Always remember, Ana," he said, giving her the advice he would repeat almost every day to her. "The lightsaber is not your only weapon. The Force is always on your side. Never allow your emotions to show through; always use the Force, and the Force will use you."_

A single tear ran a track down her face and dripped off her jaw line, but was hastily scuffed away. Ana stood up quickly and faced Qui-Gon, slightly surprised to see he was still standing there. The crack was gone in his eyes; there was only a gentle sympathy and serenity in his dark stormy eyes. He evaluated her calmly, noting her loosened fists and dropped chin. She didn't say anything for a full minute, dueling savagely with the demons that tore in her heart, then she met his eyes. Her dark green eyes were bordering on black, but they were oddly distant, as if she wasn't speaking to Qui-Gon at all.

"Master Jinn, I will be your Padawan."

_A/N: Huge thanks to Solo for double reviewing and putting me on the list! You guys, follow the lead! I hope this story gets some more reviews. Free cookies to anyone who does!_


	5. Chapter 5: A Duel

Ana surveyed the mess that had been accumulated in her dormitory room as of late. Normally her room was very sparse, with emphasis on drab colors, but ever since she had come back from that damned planet she had taken a fancy to acquiring all sorts of rubbish that were spread out neatly on her windowsill. Her sleeping pallet in the corner was rumpled and two of the wooden slats were broken from her constant tossing and turning; the blankets she had wrapped herself in every night were balled and tossed messily into the corner of the room. An empty box which was supposed to help her transfer her belongings to the apartment she would now share with the almost-stranger Qui-Gon Jinn was standing solidly in the center of the room. She sighed and went over to her windowsill, examining the flotsam and jetsam that had fascinated her in her dull stupor following the immediate days of Master Wathearu's death. A feather streaked with more colors imaginable - vivid purple, royal blue, majestic crimson, emerald green, bright yellow - sat daintily atop a blue bottle worn completely smooth by the ocean. A bone clasp that had once belonged to a cloak fastener had broken into a jaggedly odd angle, giving it the appearance of a hooked claw. Two smooth pebbles, one creamy white, one solid black, rested on top of one another.

_Yin and Yang._

The familiar prickle of the Force alerting her of someone's arrival sparked the nape of her neck, and she turned towards to doorway. She saw the pale blue mottled skin and thick tendrils out of the back of Clah'Diam's head, the sympathetic smile, the warm yellow eyes, and the loose Padawan robes. Ana gave her a watery smile - suddenly her throat was very tight - and hugged her friend. No matter how mean or cruel Ana was to her, not matter how many times she would scream at the stocky Twi'Lek to leave, no matter how many occasions had prompted her to insult her harshly … Clah'Diam always came back with a hug and a smile, like now. Ana accepted the warm embrace with a choked laugh. "I'm such a terrible friend," she said hoarsely. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. Why are we even friends, anyway?" she asked. Clah'Diam released her and smiled fondly at the distraught human, then pinched her cheek.

"Hmm…You know, I honestly don't remember. Probably because you let me eat your food when I think you're not looking." Clah'Diam said with a trace of a smile working it's way up her plump lips. She put her hands on her hips and began surveying the disaster area that had once been La'Ana's room. She whistled low in her throat. "Why haven't you packed?" she asked. Ana raised and lowered one shoulder. "Don't know where to begin?" Clah'Diam asked. Ana's silence was her answer. "Well, let's get all your clothes in the box first, then your trinkets."

Ana began folding the fancy robes that she only wore to special occasions when they were on missions. She held them against her slim figure and almost laughed. It was a wonder she even fit into anything anymore. For several days she hadn't eaten a bite, and her sides were losing some of the healthy weight and muscle she had put on with Master Wathearu. "So, how is your new Master? What's he like?" Clah'Diam asked. "From what I could tell, he seemed very wise and solemn."

"He is," Ana said slowly, unsure how to put her feelings into words. "I think he's suffering too, but on the inside. I don't know why Master Yoda put the two of us together." She decided not to tell her friend about her minor breakdown in the library yesterday; that would be embarrassing and Clah'Diam would most likely scold her lightly. "He failed a Padawan. I wonder what his training methods are."

"Most likely something very serious," Clah'Diam said. "The Padawans around here like him. Apparently he meditates by himself and rarely eats in the dining hall. Nobody knows much about him, but the apprentices like him because he's 'approachable'." Ana snorted.

"They just like him because he's handsome," she said. Clah'Diam laughed a very chirruping laugh that sounded like twittering birds. Ana was always comforted by Clah'Diam's laugh. She turned to the blue-skinned alien and saw that her yellow eyes were bright with merriment.

"Oh, so you think he's _handsome_?" Clah'Diam asked demurely, folding Ana's spare set of Padawan training robes. Despite the prickle of anger directed towards the suggestive tone in her voice, Ana managed to keep her temper under control. However, there was a certain snap in her voice as she answered her old friend.

"There is nothing wrong with being attractive. I'm merely noting on something that everyone in the Temple probably already knows. You know how difficult it was going through puberty; remember when you had a crush on Master Windu?" Ana said. This was her last dig. It was an eternal cause of shame to the small Twi'Lek, and Clah'Diam let out a helpless giggle and a flush stole over her cheeks.

"Oh, hush, you," she said, flapping one of Ana's rumpled blankets. "That was a long time ago. Be quiet, silly thing. Now, do you want to keep these?" she asked, gesturing towards the trinkets that bedecked her windowsill. Ana struggled inside herself for a moment. Allowing Clah'Diam to throw them out would symbolize her moving forward, but she wanted so desperately to cling to the last remnants she had of her old master. Silently she took the two pebbles from her friend and ran the smoothness over her fingers, allowing the slightly calloused digits to caress their surfaces.

"No." she said after a long silence. "Tuck them into a corner." Clah'Diam obeyed, although she gave her friend a doubtful look after doing so. Ana slipped the two pebbles in her pocket and heard the minute clicking of the stones striking one another. "Here, lets bring them up the stairs," Ana said, and a knot appeared between her slender dark brows. The boxes rose of their own accord, and Clah'Diam followed Ana up the stairs. Master and Padawan duos had their own separate floor plan in the Temple, and Ana fearlessly navigated through the bewildering maze. However, when she took a left instead of a right at the corner she always turned with Wathearu, she hesitated for the briefest instant. The boxes dipped threateningly low to the floor, and Ana hastily caught them.

Apartment 501 was roomy and spacious, yet cleanly sparse of any debris from the last Master and Padawan. The palm scan had already been coordinated to her skin, and the light flashed green. Clah'Diam ducked under the low entry and the two women went into the large apartment. Ana allowed the boxes to float to the center of the room, then gently rest on the floor. In one corner was a small kitchenette in case the Master and apprentice wished to eat inside instead of traipsing to the dining hall; through a short hallway was a tiny bedroom with a small sleeping couch and a lovely view of Corscourant, twinkling in the midday sun. The bedroom was smaller than the one she had shared with Wathearu, yet she found she didn't mind. At least there was a windowsill.

Qui-Gon Jinn waited impassively for his new apprentice to enter the training grounds. He had only been waiting a few moments when he caught sight of her. She was stripping off her outer garment and piling it neatly next to her Twi'Lek friend's own robe. There was a look of vague fear and unease on Ana's face as she shrugged herself out of her tunic, leaving her torso bare save for a tight white set of breast bindings. Her leggings were dark brown, and she rolled them up slightly so she could unlace her boots. Obviously she intended to stay in this arena until she was dripping wet and so tired she could barely move. Qui-Gon flexed his biceps almost imperceptibly. He could arrange that.

She approached him and bowed slightly. "Master Jinn," she said in a tone of layered calm and a simmering frustration that lingered just underneath the surface. He touched her mind gently, using the Force with the greatest possible care, and found that her shields were rock hard and firmly intact. This was a girl who didn't want anybody probing into her mind. Qui-Gon unlaced his boots and stood them off to one side. The supple leather boots stood like referees about to blow the whistle for the boxing match to begin. Qui-Gon went off to the side and took out two hardwood sticks of polished oak. He tossed one to Ana, who caught it easily with one hand. She twirled it experimentally between her hands, testing the weight and balance of the staff. It was heavier than a lightsaber yet somehow seemed less potent.

"Calm yourself," Qui-Gon ordered. "Empty your mind, and we will begin." Ana waited for a moment, trying to rid her mind of any thoughts of Wathearu. This was a near Herculean quest, because the mere presence of another Master sent a strange throb of guilt striking her heart. In some bizarre way, she felt as though she was cheating on her beloved master by studying under Qui-Gon. She reminded herself firmly that Wathearu would want her training to finish. He would want her to become a Knight. That would be his greatest achievement, his proudest accomplishment: sculpting rebellious La'Ana into a model Knight that would make her mark on society.

Without warning, she struck out against Qui-Gon with her stick. He parried it easily, twisting his stick out of the way, and the duel began. She used the Force as much as she could, relying on it to predict his next movements. She lunged for him and was rewarded by clipping him on the ribs with her hardwood stick. He sidestepped, feinted to one side, and drove the butt of his stick into her stomach. She doubled over for a moment, gasping, and swiped at Qui-Gon's legs with her stick. The stick cracked across his left shin and for a moment pain flitted across his face. She spun in a circle and attempted the movement she had completed on Clah'Diam, somersaulting between his legs. This worked to a point; Qui-Gon, having seen this move before, scissored his legs and caught her in between then. Using her stick as a crowbar, she butted him in the Achilles with her stick and his legs opened. She completed the maneuver and nearly caught him across his back. He turned, once again exhibiting an eerie speed and gracefulness that should not have belonged to a man of his age, and the blow glanced off his stick.

Everything was super-sensitive; Ana was suddenly aware of how quickly they were moving. Adrenaline was singing in her veins, and she threw herself into the battle in earnest. The telltale crunch of sand underneath his bare feet warned her where he was going to strike next. The Force made her aware of every minute muscle in his arms and legs, revealing to her where he was shifting his weight. She had never achieved this in a spar before, but often she had almost always relied this heavily on the Force when she was training by herself. She thrust her stick against his bicep but he dodged and thwacked her hard across her upper thigh. She yelped in pain, momentarily losing her focus, then plunged back into the battle. It felt so good to be able to fight something that would strike back at her expertly, something that would actually feel pain that she was inflicting. Every time her stick made contact against Qui-Gon - which was rare - she gritted her teeth and put all her energy into it. Deep in her, the black heart that had been growing slowly next to her soul throbbed with pleasure. She wanted him to feel how much pain _she _felt, how much hurt _she_ was going through. Psychical pain was momentary; emotional pain was forever.

Then his stick made contact with her wrist and she dropped her stick with a cry of pain. Already a puffy red welt was springing up on her arm, but she ignored it and glared at Qui-Gon, feeling a stab of mean pleasure to see he was breathing heavily. He sent the stick skimming across the arena floor. "Pick it up." he commanded. His dark blue eyes were expressionless, and she bit back a snarl of rage at his bland tone. She bent slowly as if seriously hurt, picking up her staff with movements that conveyed a world of pain. Then she struck fast, aiming for his left pectoral. His stick was a blur as he blocked it, and he winced slightly at the vibrations that went shuddering down his hands. She gritted her teeth and this time the stick cracked him across the abdomen. Another bolt of savage joy ripped through her, and the adrenaline that had been singing before was now screaming at the top of its lungs. She had never felt this alive, this fast, so full of energy. The sticks were in constant movement, and so were they. Spectators stood and admired their bodies as they dueled furiously, identical looks of fierce concentration on their faces.

He tripped her suddenly, sending her crashing into the dirt. Instead of striking her as she suspected he would, he lowered his stick. They were both soaked with sweat, and Ana's dark hair was plastered to her neck and forehead. She actually felt sweat dripping down her spine and into the small of her back. It had been nearly a month since she had been this exhausted. The black heart that had been pulsing with anger a moment ago had disappeared like smoke in a stiff breeze. Now she felt weary, completely wrung out, defenseless. It was as though a sponge had been soaking up her anger and guilt for weeks, and in one savage sparring match it had dried it up. She still felt the ember of guilt buried in her heart, ready to spring into flame the moment she thought of her master, but it was almost nice to be so tired. He offered a hand to her, and for a moment she considered rejecting it. But her muscles felt like they had been stretched into oblivion, and she accepted the offer. She half expected him to yank her up roughly, due to the severity of the battle which had just ensued, but he gently righted her and appraised her openly and honestly. "Do you feel better?" he asked. She was surprised. How did he know how she felt right now? She didn't like being submissive or defenseless, and feeling this tired was causing that. A slight smile quirked the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth. "I know a good spar always calms me." he said quietly, giving her a sidelong glance.

She shrugged and didn't answer, merely walking over to the bench where she had thrown her tunic and robes. She tugged on the pale tunic, struggling slightly with the cloth that was clinging to her damp skin, and then slipped into her outer robes. She heard the rocks in her pocket clink together. Qui-Gon must have heard the same thing, and his sharp eyes noticed her hand dart to her pocket and finger something. Two round objects, roughly the size of her thumb, were nestled in the fold of her pocket. "What are those?" he asked interestedly. She gave him a strange look. He might have relaxed her slightly, might have just sparred brutally with her, might have just managed to keep her mind off of her master for more than five minutes. But he might have done that by accident. She still didn't trust him.

"Nothing."

_A/N: Yay to Solo again! All of you, review! I feel amazingly inspired, so I though I'd put up another chapter! I'm writing like a house on fire! __J_


	6. Chapter 6: Evening Routine

Her whole body ached. Pain radiated from each bruise where Qui-Gon had whacked her with his stick. Ana did her best not to limp, but she thought Qui-Gon saw it anyway; how else can you account for the mildly apologetic look he gave her when they entered their new quarters? Qui-Gon noticed the box in the middle of the room and raised an eyebrow. Ana shrugged slightly. "Clah'Diam and I moved my things up here this morning," she said after a minute. "I'll unpack once I get a shower." she left, heading for the 'fresher that was down the hall. It was a spacious refresher, with a showerhead that could be set to sonic blasts that literally stripped the dirt from her body, or a soothing jet of hot water. Ana settled for the latter, turning the faucet on and beginning to strip off her clothes. It took her all of five seconds to untangle herself from the sweaty garments, and she piled them by the door. The full-length mirror on the wall caught her attention, and she winced when she saw her reflection. Large black and red bruises dotted her body randomly, and she fingered one of them ruefully. For some morbid reason, she was grateful that he had not gone easy on her. The spar had managed to clear her head for a few hours and calm her down, and if she had to handle a little discomfort to do that, then so be it.

The hot water was sinfully delicious on her lithe body. She stood there for a moment, allowing the steam to bathe her skin, then reached for the bar of coarse brown soap. Lathering herself up, she scrubbed at the layers of sweat and filth that had accumulated on her body from the hours of moving things and training. Rasping a washcloth along her arms and neck, she remembered to wash behind her ears. A little smile briefly tugged at the corners of her mouth when she did so; it had been one of Wathearu's pet peeves when people had dirty ears. She rinsed and washed herself again, enjoying the hot soap sliding along her semi-clean skin. She dipped her mop of black curls under the hot water stream and began washing her hair. She knew that once she got out, she would feel much better, and she wanted her head to be clean. After a moment of scrubbing, she rocked back on her heels and allowed the hot water to soothe her once more. Then she snapped the switch and got out, shaking one foot as she stepped onto the fluffy bathmat.

The rough towel scraped along her arms and torso, absorbing the water droplets that were already dewing on her body. She wrapped it tightly around her and went into her room. It was woefully sparse, and she realized with a little jolt of surprise that Qui-Gon had thoughtfully moved her box of belongings into the room. Her eyes narrowed as she looked through the contents. From what she could tell, he hadn't gone through any of her things. Mentally she huffed. Half of her wanted for him to have gone through her items, and then she could have yelled at him for not respecting her privacy. But it was impossible to be angry with a man who had done nothing wrong. Ana dug through her clothes until she found her sleepwear, a brown tunic and black shorts. Hair still dripping, she went back outside in search of food. Her stomach was loudly reminding her that there was food to be consumed, and Ana realized that this was one of the first times she had actually felt consciously hungry since Wathearu died.

She didn't know where Qui-Gon was - probably in his room, waiting to take a shower as well - but she decided she would make dinner. It wasn't unusual for Wathearu to go to the dining hall by himself, but Ana had always preferred to eat in the privacy of her own home. She opened the cooling unit and saw it had been stocked with a few necessities. There was a carton of _tantums_, which were small yellow fruits which tasted like a combination of kiwis and mangos, a container of purp juice - think of a mellow pear spiked with raspberries - and a neatly packaged _ethearu_ leg. _Ethearu_ was a deliciously gamy meat, and when cooked properly it was the height of buttery texture and spicy meat. She considered all of these ingredients in various combinations, and then emptied the cooling unit and spilled the contents across the counter. She used the Force to withdraw a knife from a chopping block some yards away, and began slicing the _tantums_ thinly.

Once they were in small slices, she set them aside to soak in water so they wouldn't absorb any of the butter. She heated a medium sized pan and put a dab of butter in it, remembering the sizzling crackle of the butter as it skated around on the metal pan, leaving behind a trail of melted yellow butter. When the butter had browned slightly, she slapped the meat into the pan. Instantly the butter began to bubble up and surround the leg, and a delicious aroma wafted towards her, a primal scent of raw meat and hot butter. She sniffed it gratefully, her stomach growling again, and carefully poured half a cup of purp juice into the pan. Again the pan sizzled and a new aroma, this one scented heavily with a hint of boiling raspberries, teased her nose.

Qui-Gon entered the kitchen silently and a little amused smile turned one corner of his mouth. A maddeningly delicious smell was beginning to embed itself in the spacious apartment, and it seemed to be originating from the leg of _ethearu _which was cooking on the stove. The little hellcat which had sparred with him so ruthlessly only half an hour ago had been transformed into a domestic little kitten. Her expression was serious as she poked at the meat, as if it were a science experiment that needed tending to with great care. She stirred the violet sauce that was swimming around the leg of meat, tasting it quickly and licking her lips. She looked about as half as hungry as he felt. Her hair was still wet, but it was rapidly drying from the heat of the stove, and was once again beginning to curl into a mop of messy black hair that spilled into her eyes. He approached her silently from behind and she looked up. "Can I help?" he asked. He spoke once more in that low, quiet voice that had an edge of a growl behind it, coupled with an indefinable accent. She pointed with her knife at the _tantums_ in the water.

"You can take those out and pat them dry," she said. There was no note of a challenge in her voice, merely a spike of a command. She resumed her watchful eye on the steak and turned it over with the aid of two forks. It was juicily brown, oozing a few beads of purple sauce as it cooked on the opposite side. Qui-Gon patted the damp yellow fruit slices with a dishcloth and then, at Ana's careful direction, sprinkled them heavily into the pan. They crackled the moment they touched the heat, beginning to turn brown and withered as they were simmered in a mixture of butter and purp juice. Ana's fork darted out and hooked a slice of the _tantums_ with one prong and fed it to Qui-Gon. It had the vague taste of a warmed kiwi, and it melted in Qui-Gon's mouth as he tasted it. She looked at him, cocked her head to the side, and waited. "I like mine done a bit longer, to tell you the truth, but some people like them only warmed a little bit." she said. "What do you think?"

"Keep them in longer," he said. He was slightly pleased to know that she was including him in this process. Qui-Gon could cook, but he couldn't cook anything fancy. He usually only ate when his body told him to, but Ana seemed to take cooking quite seriously. She pushed the _tantums_ around in the sauce for a while, then shut off the heat and took two small ceramic plates out of the cabinets. She sliced the _ethearu _meat and arranged it on the plates, then poured some violet sauce over it, accompanied by some sliced of _tantums_. Qui-Gon took them to the table and they sat down. The meat was succulent and juicy, melting in her mouth as soon as Ana bit down. The _tantums_ were pleasantly crispy and they added a satisfying crunch. The meal was eaten in relative silence, except for the subtle clinking of silverware against dishes. When they were finished, Ana brought the dishes to the sink and set them to soak. _Ethearu _meat was famous for staining.

Qui-Gon watched her as she departed the room. She was quiet, but her dark green eyes were bright with interest as she surveyed the roomy apartment. For a reason he couldn't discern, he followed her into her room and the two of them began to unpack her belongings. Her hand went immediately to the bag of trinkets she had brought with her, and she hesitated for the briefest instant. She didn't want Qui-Gon seeing them, but how could she keep secrets from him? Then again, she hardly knew the man. She slipped them under her pillow and hoped he hadn't noticed her moment of indecision. No such luck, however, but Qui-Gon elected not to mention it. It didn't take long to unpack her few belongings, placing her clothes in the small chest at the foot of her bed and throwing her blankets over her pallet. Qui-Gon noticed the broken slats on her pallet but the look on her face was one of fierce determination, so he once again said nothing.

She retired to bed after bidding Qui-Gon a polite, if cool, good night.

Qui-Gon woke abruptly and completely, wondering what had awoken him. He waited for another movement or sound, but there was nothing. He reached out using the Force and touched Ana's mind, probing her shields lightly. Apparently she had meditated somewhat before retiring, and her shields were intact. But there was a hairline fissure against her mental guards, and then again he heard it. A small whimper, a tiny cry. He got out of bed and crept down the hallway, stepping inside Ana's room. The room was almost completely dark save for a patch of watery moonlight that shone through the open window, making a square of white against the backdrop of inky black. He could see her tossing and turning; for an instant, he wondered if she was still awake. But then he heard another little whimper and a sad whine as she continued to thrash.

He was at her side in a moment, one large hand on her arm, trying to shake her awake. She didn't pay any attention to him and kept trying to roll over, still whimpering. He saw a tear trickling down her face as she wiggled, and he said her name aloud in the relative quiet of the room. Then she sat bolt upright and screamed bloody murder, a heart wrenching scream that reverberated through the very core of the Temple. He reached out to her, soothing her through the Force, and tried to calm her. She collapsed against him, one hand clinging to the fabric of his tunic as she cried. Tears began to join the first dewdrop of moisture that had beaded at the corner of her eye, and she was crying openly now.

After what seemed like an eternity, she fell back into her blankets, her crying subsiding as the nightmare fled. He knelt at her bedside, wondering what horrors were haunting her that made her scream in the night.


	7. Chapter 7: Lessons In Trust

Ana did her best to disguise her impatience as Qui-Gon was halted yet again by another lazy Knight who had nothing better to do than strike up a long, wordy conversation about how long it had been since they had seen one another. Qui-Gon had been more than cordial to them, but Ana sensed he was also growing weary of the frequent pauses. It appeared that Qui-Gon was rather popular when he had a Padawan learner by his side. However, it was rare that a Knight would even glance at La'Ana; their attention seemed mostly focused on the broad-chested Jedi Master. Ana applied a careful mask of polite interest as Qui-Gon waded out of a very lengthy conversation with a squat toadlike alien who kept licking his eyeballs. When the Jedi had finally departed, Qui-Gon resumed his strident walk down the wide hallway. Ana, whose legs were long for her age, had difficulty keeping up with the confident gait of her Master. She realized that they were walking - _Practically running_, her mind said grumpily - down a corridor she had never been inside before. It was times like these that made her gape at how expansive the Jedi Temple was. Most of the Temple spread out underground like an intricate network of tree roots, and the slightly slanted floors told Ana that they were continuing underneath the foundation of the Temple.

It might have been three minutes or three seconds, for Ana was once again lost in her thoughts, but before she knew it Qui-Gon was opening a door with his palm. There was a rather dusty and remarkably unused palm scanner by the door; it beeped feebly as it recognized Qui-Gon's distinctive handprint. Ana distantly marveled at how large Qui-Gon's hand was. The scanner almost didn't fit. Her thoughts flew like startled birds from her mind when she saw the monstrosity of a room they had just entered. It wasn't just wide or long, but it was impossibly _high_. The ceiling stretched above them, half hidden in ghostly shadows. There were several strange looking vaults and ladders that were assembled in preparation for them, including what looked like a spring board sixty feet in the air. Ana felt fear clamp down on her stomach, and she automatically released it into the Force. Wathearu had been particularly firm on her fear of heights, and had used this fear against her at almost every opportunity. Ana had sparred with Wathearu on a mountaintop that had a two hundred foot drop surrounding a postage stamp sized dueling arena; he had enrolled her in Dewback flying courses (one word: disaster), all in an attempt to cure her fear of heights. It hadn't worked, but she had learned very quickly to dispel her psychical fears into the Force with extreme rapidity.

Qui-Gon went over to one side and began shedding layers. The cool air of the temple assaulted his bare chest as he stripped off his inner tunic and piled it on top of his outer robe. A quick glance over at Ana concreted the suspicion he had obtained about her fear of heights. Her dark green eyes were fixed on the springboard sort of contraption that hung sixty feet in the air, and he could taste a flicker of the fear that she dispelled into the Force. He had explained his idea to Mace Windu and had been greeted with a suggestion that Qui-Gon had lost his mind. He knew it was a reckless and slightly crazy idea, but if it worked it would help Ana's fear of heights, and her fear of trusting people. Ana flushed when she realized that Qui-Gon had been watching her, ready for a day of training. A tiny corner of her mind that seemed to have sprouted there, unbidden, overnight, told him that his exposed chest _was_ rather handsome. The coal lump that had nestled next to her heart snapped a lid on that particular jar of her mind. She slid out of her outer robe and tossed it to the floor, then pulled her inner tunic over her head.

There was an unexpected and rather foreign flip in Qui-Gon's stomach as he caught a glimpse of her smooth stomach as she pulled her tunic over her shoulder then threw it to the floor. His brow creased slightly as he tried to examine the flip, but now was not the time for meditation. She was dressed as she had been yesterday, brown leggings and white breast bindings, but her face wasn't pinched into an angry scowl this time. When her face was mostly relaxed - she was still rather uncertain about why they were here - her face was rather pretty. She wouldn't win any beauty contests, for her cheeks were rather too full and her cheekbones too high, but her lips were rosebuds, formed into a perpetual pout that gave her the look of a sulking toddler. He snapped out of his thoughts when she folded her arms and flicked a glance at him. "Climb the ladder, please," he said, but there was a ring of a command in it despite the last word. Ana gave him a doubtful look and began scaling the ladder that led to the springboard.

She was extremely high, extraordinarily high, and her stomach felt as though she had just swallowed several frantically flapping butterflies. She peeked over the edge of the springboard and saw the ground of the room - looking very hard and unforgiving - grinning toothily up at her. She jerked her head back and her grip on the handles became decidedly tighter and more sweaty. "Now what?" she asked. If it was Master Wathearu, he would ask her to visualize herself on the ground and relax herself. She tried this, but the image of the compacted floor kept flashing in her mind; for the first time, she cursed her vivid imagination. She could just see in her mind's eye her body, broken and bloody on the ground, spread eagled on the floor. She shut her eyes tightly and clung harder to the post, trying vainly to send her fear into the Force. Qui-Gon then told her to do the most ridiculous and stupidest thing she had ever done in her life.

"Jump."

Ana plugged a finger in one ear and wiggled it around. Perhaps the fear was making her deaf. "What did you say?" she called down, her voice sounding pathetically tremulous, even to her. When he answered her, there was a definitely softer edge to his tone.

"I said jump." Qui-Gon said. "I'll catch you."

"Forgive me for not believing you," Ana shouted, gripping the handles harder. "But I have no intention of dying, thanks." She stole another glance at the floor and swallowed hard. Qui-Gon's answer was an implacable silence, and she knew he wouldn't let her down until she had jumped. But was he crazy? Jumping from this height would certainly kill her, and if he did manage to react quickly and catch her using the Force, there was no way Ana was going to hang her hopes on the abilities of a man she had only known for three days. She couldn't. Wouldn't. Shouldn't. Her mind spun crazily as she took another glance at the floor, and then scrapped up every fleeing shard of courage that had been packed into her small body. She jumped.

There was that utterly horrifying moment when her brain realized what she had done, and she opened her mouth to scream. Just like that, an invisible hand caught her firmly and she landed on a transparent sheet of air. Slowly, oh so slowly, she was lowered to the ground. Ana's heart did not stop erratically doing the tango until she felt the ground with her fingertips, and then fell the two inches onto the floor. She lay there for a moment, her head spinning, still unable to believe she had just survived a sixty foot drop, and that she had done so _willingly_. She got to her feet, dusting her hands off, and mentally wondered what she looked like right now. She probably looked frightened out of her mind.

Qui-Gon smiled at her warmly and risked patting her on the back. He caught her almost-imperceptible flinch; apparently Ana did not like contact with other people. Well, she would have to get used to it. Her dark green eyes were rather wild, and her mop of dark curls were frizzy and damp at the temples. She was quite scared with the thought of doing it again. "Climb the ladder," he commanded, and she gave him a look of utter shock and panic.

"_Again_?" she said disbelievingly. He wanted her to flirt with suicide _again_? Had her Master gone completely out of his mind? What was he trying to accomplish?

_I am trying to get you to trust me_.

The intrusion on her mind was so familiar that for a fraction of a second she welcomed it. Master Wathearu had used the mental link almost continuously, saying it was the best way to deepen the bond between Master and Padawan. But the deep baritone that informed her of his devious plan was not the dry rasp of her former master. Ana's shields flared to life, and Qui-Gon felt his consciousness being rudely shoved out. There was no reason to yell at him; a mental link between a Master and his apprentice was a perfectly natural thing, and it showed a healthy relationship. But right now Ana felt anything _but_ healthy. Her black stump that was beginning to grow into a sapling next to her heart was poisoning her thoughts. She wanted Qui-Gon to train her, to complete her teaching, but she did not want in any way to become attached to him. Master Wathearu would approve of her completion of her training, and he would probably swell with pride when she became a Knight, but in her mind he would never allow her to become friends with a man she hardly knew. "You can't get people to trust you by invading their minds, _Master_ Jinn," she said, wielding his title like a barbed weapon. "I would thank you to remain out of my thoughts for the time being."

_I am not in your mind. You are in mine._

Ana's eyes widened, and she saw the deep-seated amusement in Qui-Gon's smoky blue eyes. She gathered the threads of her thoughts and found that he was correct; the bond she had shared with Master Wathearu had been desperate for another Master, even though every atom of Ana's body resisted it. Her subconscious thirsted for her training to continue, to share the closeness, the intimacy, the friendship she had had with Master Wathearu. She took a step backwards and when she spoke, her voice was flinty. "I apologize. We shall keep out of each other's thoughts then."

_I wouldn't be too sure of tha_t.

Cheeky devil. Now he _was_ in her mind. _Get out!_ she ordered him. _I told you _no_. And no means no, right?_

_This rule does not apply to the matter we are supposed to be discussing. _

_Oh, and what matter would that be, great and wise Qui-Gon?_

_Ah, that's better. Although '_cheeky devil_' might be closer to the mark._

_Will you get to the point?_ She was using an inexcusable tone of voice, but he really was chafing her. Ana didn't notice that the two of them were standing perfectly still in the practically deserted room.

_The point of this exercise is to get you to trust me._

_How can forcing me to throw myself off a sixty foot springboard ignite trust in anyone?_

_Because you have to trust that I will catch you, Padawan. _He felt her recoil almost involuntarily. Her scowl was sharpened, and she turned on her heel and marched to the ladder. He watched her haul herself arm over arm until she was at the springboard; this time, there was no hesitation. She threw herself off the board and prepared herself to be caught. The scowl on her face had intensified until she looked like she was prepared to take a bite out of someone. Once more she was caught and once more she landed gently on the floor. She got up and rubbed her eyes.

"Do you trust me yet?" Qui-Gon asked. She gave him a long, evaluating look.

"Physically." she answered. "But not quite, no. Why?"

"Because I wished to ask you a question." he said simply. She turned her back on him and went over to the pile of clothing she had made earlier. Yanking her tunic firmly over her head, she fastened the ties on her sleeves and looked at him for a long moment.

"What." she asked. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. It was more of a challenge, come to think of it. He knew she wouldn't answer his real question yet, so he fell back to his secondary one, the one he knew would relax her, if only marginally.

"What was Master Wathearu like?" he asked, tugging on his under tunic. The jar in the back of Ana's mind pointed out that she was slightly sad to see those rippling muscles and tanned expanse of broad chest go. The black stump locked the lid to the jar and threw away the key. She fastened her outer robes around her waist and put her hands in her pockets, fingering the two smooth pebbles once more.

"Everybody liked him," she said quietly. "All of the Knights and the Council respected him, and the Padawans adored him. He could tell amazing stories, hold the most hilarious meditation meetings you would ever know, and could tell the most fascinating stories." she turned her head to the side as if to examine some particularly interesting part of the blank wall, and Qui-Gon knew she was forcing back tears. "He was…an unusual Master. Padawans would vie for his attention, and he would give it, yet you always had some slight superiority to them. His techniques were varied, to say the least. I had never sufficiently grasped his idea of the Living Force, so he would try all sorts of things to get me to meditate."

Qui-Gon's gaze sharpened and his smoky blue eyes grew darker with interest. "Why did you cut your Padawan braid?" he asked. He felt her tense like an angry cat, all of her muscles going taut.

"Because I did not want another Master. I did not want to be Padawan to anyone except Wathearu." she answered. She knew his question before he asked. "And no, I'm not growing it back."


	8. Chapter 8: A Broken Circle

_The gardens were beautiful in the summertime, despite the blazing heat that tattooed its mark on the back of La'Ana's curly black hair. Trees dipped their leaf-burdened branches in the gentle zephyr of wind that caressed her cheeks, and flowers bloomed, exposing their shining faces to the burning sun that bore down hard on the Jedi Temple. A winding path laid with worn stone twisted elegantly among the short bushes and around thick green spikes that bloomed brilliantly with silvery flowers that size of La'Ana's fist. Here and there were patches of thick green grass, nestled among flowerbeds of all exotic buds and leaves, perfect for meditation. To her left was a small glassy pool, completely still save for a tiny waterfall that trickled into it, causing modest ripples to cut across the flat surface. Fat orange fish, striped here and there with creamy white, swam around each other in lazy circles, peeping hopefully up at Ana in search of a snack. This large garden was one of the few left on Corscourant, and the Jedi Order treasured it greatly. She continued on her small journey, her bare feet scraping on the cool rocks that bled chill into her toes. She ducked underneath a low hanging branch, taking a sharp turn away from the path, and there it was. _

_Wathearu had planted a garden several years ago. He loved being inside it, saying it was one of the few places that he felt that he was truly a part of the Force. He would go there to meditate, or sometimes just to think and sit, perhaps read a scroll or two. She could practically see him on the small stone bench that would easily support his wiry frame, his spiky gray hair sticking up in all directions as he pursued an aged yellow scroll while sipping a mug of tea. She ran her fingers across the rough surface of the bench, but didn't sit upon it. She would sit where she had always sat, on a small patch of grass down by his feet. She hugged her knees close to her chest and surveyed the hard, bright blue sky that shone down upon her. Her slightly tanned face upturned to the bright sunlight, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was not the ideal place for meditation, as this garden was fraught with too many memories to even think of serenity and calm, but it was a good spot to sit and think. She took the two pebbles out of her pockets and held them in her hand until they had gained warmth. Without thinking, she began to talk aloud. If she had been conscious of her words she would have been mortified and confused, because to the best of her knowledge only crazy people spoke aloud to themselves._

"_I wish you were here, Master. It's a beautiful day for meditation, and that's what I think you would be doing right now. Either that or reading the papers. I miss you terribly. Sometimes I think I catch a whiff of your scent, or the familiar sound of your feet, and I think you're home. But it's only my overactive imagination as usual." She paused and wiped her eyes, sniffling slightly. "Look at me, the big crybaby. You know I don't cry. I_ know I don't cry. And I'm the big, bad warrior who fought you so hard whenever you told me to do something. Look at me, blubbering like a bantha who misses his mother."

She crawled on her hands and knees over to one of his prized flowerbeds and began pulling weeds out with her fingers. The cool dirt stuck underneath her nails quite rapidly, but she didn't care. Several weeds were already piled neatly beside her before her thoughts were arranged enough to continue. "I have a new Master, by the way. You've probably heard of him; his name is Qui-Gon Jinn. He's not bad, as Master's go, but I so wish it was you completing my training. I know you wanted to show me off at the Knighting ceremony when I completed the Trials." she gave a watery, weak little laugh. "I'm such a headstrong girl. Hopefully Qui-Gon - I mean, Master Jinn - will get tired of me soon and throw me out. But then again, I'd have another Master then, and I'm not sure I want that."

She rocked back on her heels and glanced up at the sky once more. "He doesn't _feel_ like a Master to me. I don't quite know _what_ he feels like, but it's not a Master. He's different from the other Knights around here. It's not wisdom - all Knights are wise, as far as I know - but it's something. I need to meditate, I think." Ana decided, but she didn't feel like meditating here. It was too memory-inspiring, too many pockets of thoughts and old sparks that contributed to the fire of fatherly affection Wathearu had for Ana. She stood up and wiped her hands on her leggings, looking down with mild surprise at the pile of weeds she had harvested. She gathered them up and put them down on the bench to dry in the sun, then sat down next to them.

"Not good, it is, to dwell the past," croaked a familiar voice. Ana didn't have to turn around to know that the short green alien was approaching her from behind, his stick digging small impressions into the soft soil. "Join you, I may?" he asked. Ana scooted over to the left and Master Yoda heaved himself on top of the bench with a sigh of relief. "Overheard, I did, your thoughts of Qui-Gon."

"What?" Ana said, turning. Her brows were drawn together, and she looked at the squat, wrinkled green alien with surprise. He nodded sagely, blinking his huge golden eyes solemnly at her as he nodded. "I spoke aloud?" Ana asked.

"Not bad, it is, to voice one's thoughts," Yoda said soothingly, patting her knee. His hand was small, but it easily encompassed her kneecap. "Sometimes better, it is, to talk to one's self. Done it, I have, many times." then his gaze met hers and held it firmly. "A good man, Qui-Gon is. A good Knight, he is not. Good Master, he is. Qui-Gon takes the Code lightly, he does. Unfortunate, it is."

"I feel so empty inside," Ana said, picking up a thread of the conversation she didn't even know she had unraveled. "Like part of me has died. And I don't want it to grow with Qui-Gon; I want things to be just the way they were. Everything was safe and comfortable; I want to be with Wathearu again. I miss him awfully, Master Yoda."

Yoda suddenly bent over and plucked two blades of grass in his gnarled paw. He held them up to Ana's face for inspection. "Identical, these are?" he asked. Ana studied the grass blades. Similar, but not identical; one had a sliver of yellow striping the left side, and the other was a shade darker green. She shook her head. "Identical, they are not," Yoda conceded. "Similar, are they?"

"Not quite," Ana said. "But distantly related." she wondered where on earth the small green alien was going with this. She knew he spoke in riddles, but this was rather perplexing. Yoda folded one of the grass blades into her hands.

"Identical, life is not. Very fast, does life change. A circle, life is." Yoda took the long grass blade and tied it in a loop. "Your circle broken, it was." he snapped the loop of grass in two. Ana flinched for a reason she didn't know, and looked reproachfully at the broken grass loop. "Refitted, they will not be," Yoda said, piecing the two back together. They fit, but not perfectly. Then Yoda, with a deft movement of his claws that belied their wrinkled state, tied two more knots. "Make do, we must." A little smile split his ugly features, and he dropped the repaired circlet into her hands.

"So…I should make do with Qui-Gon and finish my training?" Ana said uncertainly. He was answering a question she didn't know she had asked. "What does that have to do with Master Wathearu?" Yoda rapped her shin with his gimer stick and she yelped, let out a hiss of pain, and rubbed her now-bruised leg.

"Stupid girl, you are not," Yoda scolded. "An old circle, Wathearu was. New circle, you are on now. Changes, life does, and change with it, you must." With that, Yoda heaved himself to his feet with a sigh and shuffled out of the garden, leaving behind a very perplexed and confused La'Ana who was muddling over what he had said. Unconsciously she stroked the circle of grass in her hands.

Qui-Gon saw her first, and approached her quickly. The blue-skinned Twi'Lek was sunning herself outside on the many parapets that the Temple owned, a scroll on her knees. Unlike the rest of her race, Clah'Diam was shorter and stockier, with wide hips and full breasts, lacking the regal slimness that her clan possessed. He suspected she was mutated with something, but the overall appearance was pleasant, nonetheless. For a bizarre reason, he found himself comparing Clah'Diam's rounded beauty to Ana's slender form. He found them both equally pretty, with his preference lying with Ana. Shaking his head at these ridiculous thoughts, Qui-Gon mounted the steps to the parapet. At the sound of Qui-Gon's footsteps, Clah'Diam looked up and a smile created two dimples in her cheeks. "Good afternoon, Master Jinn," Clah'Diam said politely, rising and setting her scroll aside. She bowed slightly, then folded her hands into her sleeves. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about La'Ana," Qui-Gon answered, sitting next to Clah'Diam on the wooden bench. The pale blue Twi'Lek raised her tattooed eyebrows and offered him a slightly bemused smile, her golden eyes round with amusement. She patted his hand in an overt display of affection - he had to remind himself that the Twi'Lek's were a rather affectionate race towards humans - then she rocked back and considered.

"Well, I can tell you some things about her, but the rest you must ask yourself. I cannot tell you truly how she is, for I only know one side of her. I am sure her enemies would see another side, her lovers yet another, and Master Wathearu saw a side that nobody else saw. I see her as a friend and a sister, and I can tell you what little I know of her. But that isn't what you really came to ask me, is it, Master Jinn?" Clah'Diam asked with a knowing smile. Qui-Gon gazed off into the distance.

"You are remarkably perceptive for a girl your age," he admitted ruefully. "I came to ask you if La'Ana has confided in you in any way concerning her master's death. The Council does not know, and I fear if I do not know what troubles her I might not be able to help her with her training."

"That is a good excuse for curiosity," Clah'Diam laughed smilingly. "But no, she has not. And even if she had, I would not tell you. That is a story she must tell you on her own time, in her own place. Ana rarely feels safe with anyone. Wathearu and I are the exceptions, and considering Master Wathearu is now one with the Force, I am the sole guardian; at least, in Ana's mind. Once she knows she can trust you, you will not be able to peel her off of your side."

There was a long silence, and then Clah'Diam suddenly spoke up. "I wonder, sometimes, if there was a greater love between Master Wathearu and Ana. But then I only have to look at Ana to remember that she saw him as nothing but a father substitute; despite his failings, she saw only the good man he was at heart." She finished sadly.

"I agree with you about their relationship," Qui-Gon said quietly after a moment. "But I am curious as to why you would list Wathearu as a failure. To hear La'Ana talk about him, he did nothing but good. She loved him dearly; it is no wonder she was so distraught when he died."

"_Distraught_ is mild," Clah'Diam said with a little sigh. "More like _stark raving, completely crazy_. But Wathearu was similar to you in many ways. Instead of failing _one_ Padawan, Wathearu failed _two_. Ana would be his only success, and he looked forward to the day when she would graduate." another long silence passed between them, and Clah'Diam stood. "My suggestion to you, Master Jinn, is that you ask Ana yourself about Master Wathearu's death. She will only confide in you when you can both trust one another. And remember; it took Ana three months to fully trust Wathearu."


	9. Chapter 9: Things Long Past

She was in the kitchen when he came home, cooking once more. Her messy black hair was still wet from a recent shower, and it clung to the back of her neck and her temples, a spiky cowlick still in damp peaks. She usually didn't look up at his arrival, and hardly spared him a glance when he would greet her, but tonight she made eye contact and flashed him a small smile. It was, he reflected, the first time he had ever seen her smile. It wasn't a full smile, certainly not, but at least it was an improvement. He couldn't help but think that it aided her features quite a bit when she smiled; for the briefest instant, a dimple formed in her left cheek. Then it was gone, and she resumed fiddling with four plump blue _jawas_, which were fruits the size of a fist and encased in a thick shell. The paring knife she was using was half embedded in the casing, and she was working on the crack she had created. Qui-Gon went silently to the living room and slipped out of his outer robe. The apartment was cool, and it was a welcome relief after meditating in the hot sun for several hours. Padding back to the kitchen, he observed her in a different light, trying to see her as Clah'Diam and Master Wathearu saw her. He noticed a few things that he had overlooked during his training with her; she walked on the balls of her feet, trying to make as little noise as possible; she ran her hands through her hair when she was frustrated or tired, and she usually kept her eyes half closed.

She was still struggling with the _jawas_, so he went over to her and touched her shoulder gently. "Do you need help with that?" he inquired. She met his eyes for the second time that night - a record, as far as he was concerned - and shrugged carelessly. But she didn't relinquish the paring knife and she began trying to saw through the shell. It was a very good thing the _jawas_ were a delicious fruit, otherwise all of this trouble would have been for naught. He saw her jaw lock subtly, and for an instant he saw her as Wathearu must have seen her: a stubborn child chock full of passion and rebellion, ferociously attacking an innocent fruit who was defying her wishes. Fighting back the urge to laugh, he put his large hands on hers and showed her how to cut into one. The tip of the paring knife dug into the only vulnerable spot on the fruit; it's small stemlike protrusion. Slicing it off carefully, he guided her hands to make three slits in the shell from top to bottom. Then he rapped it smartly on the counter; the shell peeled off.

Ana caught her breath. She had been noticing all day how quick Qui-Gon was for a man of his considerable size, and now, his hands on hers, she realized just how _large_ his hands were. True, she had a small frame, and her fingers were positively tiny compared to his, but his calloused palms swallowed her hands completely. A one-note laugh escaped her at how easily Qui-Gon had dispatched the fruit after all of her fighting, and she began slicing the small, soft interior of the fruit and breading them in a mixture of crumbs and a flour paste. She felt his dark eyes on her; dark, smoky blue orbs that followed you everywhere. She felt slightly unnerved by his constant watchful gaze, but she had long learned to ignore slightly unnerving or unpleasant things. She layered the _jawas_ on a flat baking pan and slid it in the cooking unit, setting the timer for forty five minutes. "Thanks," she offered. Her voice came out smaller and meeker than she had intended, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "I didn't know how to peel one of those things. Thanks for helping me." Her tone had reached a more strident, confident tone, and she was pleased. She tried to imply _Well, if you hadn't helped, I would have managed_.

She went into the living room and shrugged off her outer robe, leaving her clad in a pair of brown leggings and a cream colored tunic. Ana folded both her outer robe and Qui-Gon's, then fed them into the laundry processor. After this menial chore was done, she went into her room and unearthed her bag of trinkets. She put the smooth pebbles back in with the rest of toys, and fondled the multicolored feather for a moment. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door to her room hissed open and Qui-Gon ducked under the lintel. Sitting down on her bed, his sharp eyes noticed her hand darting underneath her pillow. "And what would a girl your age be doing with a diary under her pillow?" he asked with a blanket of amusement layering his words. Ana fought the urge to scowl and instead withdrew the pouch.

"It isn't a diary, not really," she admitted. Part of her - actually, the part closest to that ugly, wizened black stump - was shrieking that she was exposing one of her last connections to Wathearu to a man she barely knew and hardly trusted. But her sensible side - the sensible side that had almost always been sat upon whenever her passionate fire had leaped up - whispered that he _was_, after all, her Master, and there shouldn't be secrets. "It's a bag full of things that I've collected." she said, and spilled the entire contents out onto the bedspread between them. She held the two pebbles in her hand and fingered the blue bottle which had been worn soft and opaque by the constant churning of the ocean in which she had found it. The feather floated gracefully in midair for a brief instant, then settled to rest on a peaked corner of the blanket. She rattled the two stones in her hands.

"May I ask why you have collected them?" Qui-Gon asked, examining the blue bottle with interest. He stroked the satiny soft surface of the bottle, feeling the minute scratches it bore from constant rattling around in the pouch. She sighed and the two pebbles ground together as she made a fist, then relaxed it. It would do no good to become angry at Qui-Gon; he was merely ignorant of her tokens, and it wasn't his fault. She stirred her finger into the contents of the pouch, and fought an insane urge to cry.

"Wathearu loved details," she began softly. "He loved finding little things that everyone else wouldn't look for, or not see at all, and bringing them home. It became sort of a game between us, trying to find the most intricate and beautiful things while we were on missions. These are things I know he would have loved to see, because he liked little junk like this. So after his…passing…I continued the game, for reasons I still don't understand. But I did, and these are some of the things I've collected. I used to have more, but I culled them down when I moved back into my old room so I could fit them on the windowsill."

Qui-Gon handed her back the blue bottle, and helped her gather the things up and put them back in the bag. She slipped the bag under her pillow once more and buried her head in her hands. Why was she doing this? She didn't trust Qui-Gon, not really, but why was she suddenly showing him things she vowed she would never show another living creature? What was possessing her to reveal these things to him? She didn't understand, and it would have to be meditated on. She peeped out sideways from her fingers and saw Qui-Gon looking at her with a mingled expression of sympathy and grief. And then she saw it; the crack appeared once more in his stormy blue eyes. That serene wall had a small fissure that she could peek inside, and it was more visible now than it had been ever before. It was then that she fully understood; they were both grieving for things long past.

"My Padawan…" Qui-Gon began, interlacing his fingers. "Xanatos. He was a handsome, bright young boy. I found him on Telos IV, an small planet known for mining, when he was three years old. I had always been amazed - and I suppose I still am - at his Force-potential. His father, Crion, was a political leader of some sort, and he reluctantly agreed to allow me to bring him to the Temple." he paused, and Ana was shocked to see there was a dampness to Qui-Gon's eyes. He snorted one weak chuckle and continued. "He was always aggressive, Xanatos. The Council didn't like how he handled matters, and they sent us on a mission in the final test of his Knighting Trials. We were to return to Telos IV. His father corrupted him and turned him against us. I had to kill Crion."

There was a long pause, and a guttural breath from Qui-Gon. His head was very light, and he had no earthly reason to confide in Ana. He had never told any of this before to anyone except Tahl, and he wondered distantly why he was doing it now. But there was the vague sensation of hurtling down a hill on a speeder; he knew the painful ending was approaching, but there was that exhilarating rush of adrenaline that kept his foot on the gas pedal. "Xanatos never forgave me. We sparred…viciously. When it was over, he fled, but before he did so, he burned himself on the cheek. With his father's ring. It had cracked, giving it an open end, and it soon became his trademark."

"A broken circle," Ana breathed. "Oh, Qui-Gon…" She didn't know what to say. She saw the pain and hurt in his eyes, saw the brokenness in his stance, and she knew he would never get over this. A part of him would always fan into flames whenever the name _Xanatos_ breathed onto the ember. She suddenly reacted instinctively and gripped his large, calloused hand hard. Then she understood with blazing clarity why Yoda wanted Qui-Gon to be her Master. They were both grieving, both broken circles, and their circles would never be fully healed. They would continue on the loop of their life, jumping over the crevasse that marked their painful scars whenever they came to the jutted end of their circle. He looked up at her, and they recognized each other in their eyes. It was as though they were glancing into a mirror. Ana looked down at their interlocked hands and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Wathearu died because of me." She paused again, then licked her lips nervously. She experienced the same thrilling rush of recklessly surging at a breakneck speed down some rocky cliff, knowing that she would regret it later, but she was a slave to the adrenaline. "I…we were on a mission on Al-Kahrid. There were politicians corrupting the trading system. Good families were going hungry, and we were sent there to oversee the restoration plans for the trading system. It wasn't supposed to have any combat. It was routine." she hesitated for a beat, then surged forward again wildly. "I went exploring with Wathearu when we had been there for a week. We stumbled across a tribe of natives doing some kind of ritual. We were chased, but we got out all right. Afterwards, that night, I… I went back there by myself. They recognized me and chased me again, but this time they caught me. I don't know what would have happened if Wathearu hadn't arrived. He rescued me, but he was killed."

There was a long silence, and suddenly all of Ana's quiet composure shattered into jagged pieces in a moment. She burst into tears, huge shuddering sobs that racked her small frame. He held her closely to his chest, and she gripped a handful of his tunic as though he were a life raft. She cried, tears blurring her vision and painting her face. After a long while, she wasn't sure if she was crying for Qui-Gon, herself, or Wathearu. All of their hurts flamed up into one huge bonfire that was leaping higher and higher into the sky, and the black stump was screaming with simultaneous joy and derision. Joy that she was in so much pain, joy that she was grieving so terribly, joy because her tears were nectar to that hated lump of twisted black coal that had burrowed into her thoughts. Derision because she was crying in the arms of Qui-Gon, spite because she was feeling protected by his strong arms, hate because she was crying for him as much as she was for her. And if she had looked into Qui-Gon's face, she would have seen a single tear making a track down his face.

_A/N: Again, huge thanks to my one and only fan, Solo! Round of applause, please, and have another cookie! _


	10. Chapter 10: Changes And Realizations

A sliver of the morning sun peeked over the majestic spires of Coruscant's downtown skyscrapers, illuminating them in a backdrop of dazzling gold. Above him, the sky was a faded cottony gray that went substantially darker the closer it got to the horizon. A pink blush crept along the underside of a cloud, breathing a pale gold and red cast to the grayish sky. Gold suddenly shocked the clouds as the sun crept farther into the sky, stretching its fiery golden rays over the industrial and commercialized city of Coruscant. Far above the reaches of the heavens, the palest shade of robin's egg blue began to pattern itself onto the skies. Qui-Gon watched the beautiful sunrise with the same feeling that always beat in his chest every time he observed the splashes of tropical colors; a deep, primal kind of joy. Because of all the smog that otherwise clung to the scummy lower cities of the planet, the sunrises were substantially longer and more beautiful than on any other planet he had been on. Coruscant attracted aliens and humans of all classes and creed, reduced to tourists as they craned their necks to gape like children at the sunrises and sunsets that sprawled across the heavens in a fabulous painting. Resting his hands on the stone banister that lined the piazza, he had to look down and away from the bedazzling golden sun as it began its course into the farthest pinnacle of the skies. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind and felt the Force all around him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and arms in its intensity. The intricate web that made the Force suddenly pinged, a tiny signal shuddering through his system to alert him that someone was approaching him from behind. Looking behind him, he saw Ana watching him.

Ana was leaning against the doorway to the piazza, her arms folded, a sleepy kind of look on her pouting lips. For the first time since he had seen her, there was a subdued mellowness to her eyes that probably did not appear at all during the rest of the day. Now, when she was most relaxed and vulnerable, he once again saw the woman behind all the obsidian-hard masks that she had frantically thrown up to protect herself. Last night had been the shattering point; when she finally broke down and sobbed into his chest, he saw the woman she could have been without the scars that webbed her heart. The pent up feelings had imploded and finally the dam had broken; when she looked at him, there was a moderate shading of trust in her dark green eyes. She blinked drowsily and yawned, suddenly looking like a small child. "What are you doing up so early?" she asked, her words slurring together with the potent toxin of sleep. She came over to him and winced at the brightness of the skies, rubbing her eyes firmly before squinting at the sunlight. "An' why are you watching a sunrise?"

"It is one of my pleasures to watched the sunrise on Coruscant," Qui-Gon admitted. "I have always taken a partiality to the colors displayed here." He looked down at her and allowed one corner of his mouth to lift into a smile when he saw the sulkily tired look on her face. She reminded him of a small child forced to wake up from its nap too early, what with her full cheeks and snubbed nose, pouting rosebud lips and dark green eyes that were still hazed with slumber. She fidgeted slightly, one slim hand plucking nervously at the long hem of her brown sleep tunic, the other stuck in her pocket at a determined attempt at carelessness. She was hiding something, and he knew it, but she was doing a remarkable job of keeping her shields intact.

"Um…Master Jinn?" she asked tentatively. He noted that it was the very first time she had referred to him as 'Master' without a sneering or derisive tone in her voice. "I'm going to be late for our sparring practice today. I, uh, need to meet someone today, and it'll only be a few minutes." He clamped down on his tongue before he could ask exactly _who_ she was going to meet. If he wanted her to trust him, he had to trust her. Still, there was a mild chafe in the back of his mind at the idea that she might be blowing off the first few minutes of their spar to go meet someone else. Precisely _why_ this trivial matter annoyed him so was beyond his mental capacity. He desperately needed to meditate today and untangle all these conflicting emotions he had towards his Padawan. He realized with a start that she was waiting for an answer.

"By all means, go meet your friend," he assured her. "I shall wait for you." She gave him a little grateful smile, and then left, leaving him alone with the sunrise that had finished streaking the fantastic colors across the portrait of the heavens.

He followed her. He wasn't sure why, but the idea that she was going to meet someone else was annoying him beyond all sensibility. He threaded his way through the throng of young Padawan learners that were already beginning to choke the hallways and corridors that wove themselves into the labyrinth of the Jedi Temple. She was quite easy to follow, mostly because she moved with the innocent unawareness that said she naturally assumed she would never be trailed. A few times he worried that he might have lost her in the sea of swarming people, but he always found her eventually. His stormy blue eyes followed her as she continued her dreamy progress through the crowd of students making their various ways to the dining hall, the arena, or other areas that they had occupied during this obscenely early hour. She moved with the hurried gait and a ducked chin, belying her assurance that she had subtly intoned in her speech when she told him of her departure. Wherever she was going, she didn't want Qui-Gon - or anyone else, for that matter - to follow her. She wove her way through the crowds, turned a corner - and vanished. He cocked an eyebrow quizzically, wondering where she could have gone. He had been following her quietly and carefully, without making a sound, and she just disappeared. He scanned the rapidly moving students and Padawans that were mingling in the corridor, and he wondered where she could have gone.

Ana slowed when she was sure he was out of sight. She had taken a shortcut that was rarely used by the other Padawans because the narrow hallway was cramped and extremely disused. The Temple was so sprawling and confusing that there were dozens of conflicting hallways that stumbled into each other. Clah'Diam had shown her several of them, and Ana had discovered you could get around the Temple virtually unseen by the various inhabitants, unless one of them decided to haphazardly glance into the large cracks that separated the hallways from one another. She batted aside a cobweb and took several corkscrew turns, emerging out into a staircase halfway across the Temple from where she had last been seen by Qui-Gon. Taking the stairs two at a time, she must have made quite a sight; still in her sleepwear, her hair mussed and hanging in her eyes, dark green eyes still cloudy with sleep, cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. The gritty stairs felt cool and good underneath her bare feet, and as she mounted the stairs her hand skimmed the railing. She darted into another hallway, then threw open the door leading to the place she needed to be. After a hurried glance around - the last thing she wanted was for anyone to see her entering this rather embarrassing place she had only been to when she had returned from Al-Kahrid - she ducked inside.

Uououououououououou

He was unutterably confused as to where she had gone off to. Resigning himself to the fact she knew the Temple quite a bit better than he did, he went to the arena and waited for her. She said she would be late, but he didn't know how late. Settling himself down, he found a shady spot near the wall of the arena and sat cross-legged on the ground. He would just have to wait. Possibly she was going to meet Clah'Diam and confess that she had completely lost it the night before, although this seemed highly doubtful. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall and began to meditate. Meditating always soothed him, and he realized with a little jolt that he had never seen La'Ana meditate. She probably didn't put that much in store of it. Vaguely he remembered her mentioning Wathearu's inclination to get her to meditate and calm her mind. Slowly, he expelled a breath into the still-dewy morning. His muscles relaxed and he searched himself silently. It didn't take him long to discover the annoying little chafe in the back of his mind. It was dim and shadowy, hard to pin down, but he managed to concentrate and extract it with unerring slowness. It was like pulling a tooth from a rotted gum; it let loose with a good deal of pain and a sickening _pop_. When it was laid bare for him to analyze and wonder over, he began to study it. What he saw surprised him more than he could have possibly imagined.

Attraction.

He was _attracted_ to La'Ana.

His first impulse was to laugh. After all, Ana was at least ten years younger than he was. She was small, cute, good looking, while he was tall, with a nose that had been broken multiple times, a scruffy beard, and an impulsive nature. But then, turning the concept over in his mind, he decided after a bit that he must not be thinking straight. He had liked the woman he had seen briefly last night, the woman who had finally let down the guard she had spent her whole life perfecting. He had seen the woman who resided at the very core of Ana; the small, meek, submissive girl who had been chained in some dark corner of her mind that was probably only exposed - on occasion - to Wathearu. After a moment, he realized this wasn't quite right either. He had always liked the way Ana looked. She was certainly not going to win any beauty contests, for her figure was rather too petite and slender, her cheeks too full, and her eyes too disdainful. But there was a certain regal slimness to her body, a nobility in her stance and a defiance in her nature that was, he admitted, very attractive. It was that he was attracted to, he decided. And that was all. Firmly he shoved the idea away and continued on his meditation.

The Force shimmered once more, and he slowly withdrew himself from his meditations. Someone was approaching him, and it was alerting him. Getting up, he glanced around and saw the stocky Twi'Lek, Clah'Diam, who was looking at him anxiously with her golden eyes. "Master Jinn?" she asked questioningly. "Have you seen Ana today?" Her bottom lip was tugged between her teeth, and she worried it briefly before releasing it and looking at Qui-Gon with a pair of nervous eyes. "She said she was going to do something today, and I haven't found her yet. I checked the crèche - she goes there sometimes to relax - and she isn't here, at the arena. I was wondering if you knew where she was."

Qui-Gon's brow furrowed. "No, I only saw her for a moment this morning. She told me the same thing; she was leaving to go somewhere urgent. I followed her for a while, but I lost her in the crowds. Why do you ask, Clah'Diam?" he asked. Clah'Diam's eyes narrowed worriedly and she glanced around.

"Oh, no reason. She was just acting rather strangely the other morning and I wanted to check up on her and be sure she is doing fine. You know," she said, an idea lighting her eyes, "I haven't checked in the gardens. Come to think of it, that's probably where she is." Clah'Diam seemed relieved. "I'll go check and make sure she's all right."

"I'd prefer it if I went to her, Clah'Diam," Qui-Gon said after a moment. "We had a discussion last night, and she is most likely feeling guilty. Where in the gardens did you say she would be?" Clah'Diam looked mildly surprised, but didn't comment on Qui-Gon's words.

"Master Wathearu had a little plot of flowers in the Temple's garden, towards the western corner. That's probably where she is. Are you sure you don't want me to go? I can go fetch her and bring her back here to you, if you want." Clah'Diam offered. Qui-Gon shook his head slowly.

"I shall go. I appreciate it, Clah'Diam. Send your master my best wishes." he said. Clah'Diam gave a small shrug and nodded, taking off into the center of the arena. Qui-Gon began his journey to the Temple gardens, specifically the western corner.

Uououououououououou

She was on her knees on the carpet of glittering grass, each green spike holding one beaded dewdrop that was winking brightly in the morning sun. Her head was bowed, and she seemed to be talking to herself in a low voice. Qui-Gon's sharp ears pricked up, and he caught the last few words of her sentence. Something with 'different' and 'uncertain' in the phrase. Most likely she was talking to Wathearu in her mind, and probably talking about him. Qui-Gon stepped forward off of the smooth stone path and into the little plot of a garden where Wathearu had spent most of his time. He had to pull aside a curtain of low hanging willow branches in order to fully enter, and when he did, he was hit by a blaze of color. Forest green bushes sprouted pink blossoms the size of Ana's fist, a spiky blue shrub squatted low to the ground, covered in a veil of minute white flowers, and a patch of golden flowers the size of Qui-Gon's thumbnail bloomed exquisitely, ruffled petals forming the appearance of a petticoat. The only drab thing in the small garden was Ana, with her plain brown-and-black clothes, bare feet…and a Padawan braid.

She had a new haircut. Her hair was even shorter and spikier, leaving a shock of black curls that still hung heavily in her eyes, but there was a short Padawan braid hanging down in back. Due to the shortness of her hair, several intricately embellished beads had been added to the braid to lengthen it. It suited her, and he dimly harkened back to the time she had looked at him so angrily and practically growled that she would never grow her braid back. Something had changed, and it didn't take a genius to recognize what; Ana trusted him. Oh, she would never trust him completely, but she trusted him enough to begin her training in earnest. When he spoke, she flinched and turned around. "You grew it back." he said quietly, his deep baritone a low rumble. She got up and passed her fingers through her curly black hair ruefully with a blush skimming her cheeks. Up until this point, she actually didn't know she could blush.

"The hairdresser had to add a few _silca_ beads to make it longer," she admitted. "But yes, I did. Eventually it'll be long, but for now I'm content with it being short." Qui-Gon closed the gap between them and ran his fingers down the short braid, intermittently woven with a few ivory beads, carved with several random signs and shapes. He didn't catch the hitch that jerked in her breath, nor the flush that now rose to her eyes as she realized how close the two of them were. He had a masculine, distinctive scent, similar to a heavy musk or something that reminded her of raw power. It was primal, it was savage, it was handsome, it was _man_. She fought for control over her emotions that were currently cavorting around inside her chest like wild animals. She was so busy trying to wrestle some deep-rooted feeling that was telling her to do something drastic, that she almost didn't hear his question.

"Do you trust me?" he asked. She gasped slightly and swallowed hard. Did she? Was she disgracing Master Wathearu by trusting this man? Then she decided it was a foregone conclusion. She trusted him the moment she felt safe in his arms, the moment she clung to his chest and allowed all the bitter tears to balm the wounds that had been slashed into her heart. Slowly, she looked up at him, their eyes locking, and her forest green eyes were solemn and completely serious.

"I trust you enough to give you a chance."


	11. Chapter 11: A New Mission

Qui-Gon hurried through the Jedi Temple, weaving his way in and out of the various throngs of students who were huddled together in groups. Some of them glanced up at his arrival, and there were a few bows and a few chirruped greetings by some of the prettier girls. He hastily accepted the bows with a wave of his hand but ignored the salutations by the salacious females, especially the blonde one with the blue eyes. His dark eyes were scanning the crowds, and annoyance was quickly furrowing his brow. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to relax. He would find her. It seemed as though he spent his days in a state of constant worry as he searched for his Padawan, who almost always was somewhere different. Her list of duties that she kept tacked to the wall of her bedroom hadn't been updated in three months, so he really had no idea where she was today. Ana was completely haphazard about her schedule of events, and she usually relied upon Qui-Gon's simplistic manner of storing the list in her head, or asking Clah'Diam to keep everything written down. The Twi'Lek was remarkably organized, and Qui-Gon once more thought what an unusual pairing they made. He took a corner rather quickly and almost ran straight into the aforementioned Twi'Lek, who was smiling at him with wide, golden eyes. Her tattooed eyebrows were raised, and she offered him a little impish grin. "Looking for La'Ana again? She goes missing quite a bit, doesn't she?" she said in a cheerful voice. She bent at the waist to pick up the papers she had dropped, then re-shuffled them neatly in her arms. "She had crèche duty at nine o'clock, so I told her to scat and I would take care of her Galactic History class. She's probably still there; she liked hanging out in the nursery."

He bowed to Clah'Diam. "Thank you, Clah'Diam, I do not know how I would have found her otherwise." He said, then took off again. He walked slower, more leisurely now that he knew where she was. He might have guessed it of her, anyway; she had a remarkable fondness for small children and little babies. Considering the crèche was a good distance away, he settled into a semi-meditation that he often adopted whenever there was a spare moment. He couldn't get fully into a trance, but rearranging his thoughts would be good before he met up with Ana. They had quite a bit to talk about today. Ana had become slightly more receptive to him, opening up a little further and a little further each day. She no longer became hot-tempered and angry whenever he mentioned Wathearu, and he sensed she was beginning - only a bit, mind - to trust him. As she had said, she trusted him enough to give him a chance. The new hairstyle of her Padawan braid had been a remarkable step, and she had been questioned about it several times when the rest of her classmates saw the change. When they asked why, she merely sniffed and informed them that she intended on completing her training. For reasons he still couldn't pin down, this irked him whenever she said it. Part of him wanted a hidden meaning to it, wanted her to say that _he_ was her Master, and that was why she grew it back. But she still too wary about revealing everything to him, and he was careful not to press too hard. It was rather like watching an oyster; every time she opened up a little more, he could see the pearl of a woman that she could have become. But he knew that if he threw caution to the winds and merely thrust open the oyster, she would snap down on him and leave him with very sore fingers.

He opened the door to the crèche and was instantly greeted by the sound of a shrieking baby. Around him were glass containing pods where the newborns and the infants were kept, their monitors beeping gently in the hubbub as the red lights alerted the nurses that they needed to be fed. A redheaded nurse gave him a very annoyed glance as he politely shut the door behind him and offered her a smile. "Are you here to volunteer?" she snapped. "If so, please go over there and start changing bottles."

"Perhaps another time. I am actually here in search of my Padawan, La'Ana Shaddem." Qui-Gon said lightly. "Do you happen to know where she is located?" The nurse rolled her eyes and pointed at the wall. "Thank you very much." he said, then jumped out of the way to narrowly avoid being whacked in the shins by a runaway stroller. In it was a chubby blonde boy who was propelling himself along without using his hands or feet, and screaming with delight. Behind him, shouting for him to stop, was a rather fussy looking Jedi Knight, Ta-Foon. She made a face at him as she went by, still calling out after the Force-sensitive child. Qui-Gon strolled over to the playpen in the corner, and what he saw warmed his heart.

Ana was on her hands and knees, crawling around on the floor, loaded down with two little girls. They were both giggling wildly, and the larger on had a firm grip on her Padawan braid and a handful of her curly black hair. He realized this was the first time he had seen her smile genuinely, a true smile, even though she winced whenever the toddler yanked too hard on her braid. Ana rolled over suddenly, spilling the two girls onto the carpet and they shrieked girlishly with delight, the rest of the children piling on her in excitement. They burbled and chattered loudly in baby-talk as they clutched eagerly at her hands, tunic and leggings as she played with them. When she caught sight of Qui-Gon, she blushed ferociously and stood up, brushing off the babies who were still clinging to her tunic. She stepped over the playpen walls and came up to him. "Sorry about that," she apologized. "I get a bit carried away when I play with the children. It's quite a demanding job; but I love it so."

"You're very good at it," Qui-Gon said truthfully. She had looked becomingly natural whenever she played with the children. "However, I believe it is time for you to accompany me to the gardens. I have something I wish to discuss with you." At the worried look on her face, he laughed softly and soothed her. "It is good news - to a point. Now come, get your outer robe and we shall leave." He took the robe off the hook by the door and helped her into it. Ana felt a familiar shiver run down her spine as his large hands rested briefly on her shoulder for a minute; every time they touched, no matter how innocently, she always got a very curious feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't identified it, mostly because of her disparage of meditating, but at the moment she just wanted to leave it be. Some things were better left a mystery.

09

It really was funny, Ana decided, seeing Qui-Gon up to his elbows in dirt as he weeded Wathearu's garden. They had begun a silent habit of going there whenever they needed to talk or meditate, and as they spent more time there, the garden gradually expanded. The daily chores such as weeding, cutting, mowing and watering were handled together, and they just had the Eastern corner of the garden to complete before they could meditate. During the time they had been working, he had asked about her love for creche duty and noted that she was one of the few Padawans who truly enjoyed it. "They see it as a burden," he said. "But you don't seem to mind at all."

"It's very relaxing," Ana said sheepishly. "Something's very innocent about their faces, the way they have no idea about the worries and struggles us adults go through. What about you, do you like the creche?" she asked. Qui-Gon rocked back on his heels and thought for a moment, wiping his forehead and unconsciously smearing a stripe of dirt across his cheek. His smoky blue eyes were far away.

"I do," he said finally. "It's a hard job, no doubt, but as you said, there is something relaxing about it nonetheless." He went back down on his knees and pulled up a weed the size of a small shrub that was quickly eating away at one of Wathearu's carefully trimmed trees. "But I do wish to tell you something," he said after a long moment. She paused and looked at him, worry creasing her brow. "Master Windu approached me yesterday," Qui-Gon said slowly, "And offered us an assignment if we wish it."

Her heart did something very strange as he said this, but he hurried on, seeing no look of opposition on her face. "It would be a very simple assignment; we are to offer protection to Senator Bulgrasse, and only for a few weeks at most." he said, glancing at her. She was very far away, and he knew she was not thinking of him, but of the last mission she had been on. No aggressive force had been needed on the last trip, and her Master had still died.

"What do you think?" she asked quietly, her lashes lowered. He thought about it for a moment.

"I believe you are ready," he said simply. "It has been shown to the Council that we trust one another to some extent, and there cannot be any halt in your training. I believe you can be proud of the skills you display as both a warrior and a peace-negotiator."

"All right," she said very softly, her eyes still far away. "All right, we'll go. When do we leave?" She turned to him and he nodded slowly.

"If we accept the mission, we will leave the day after tomorrow." he said. Ana reached across and wiped the dirt off his cheek with her thumb, almost unconsciously. He tried to ignore the pleasant crackle of electricity he felt rippling down his spine whenever they touched. He had tried his best to disregard what he had come across when he meditated, but it was no use. There couldn't be any doubt about it; he was attracted to Ana.

He just hoped it wouldn't jeopardize the mission.

_A/N: Short chapter, sorry Thisby! Oh, and thanks to ChewiiWoofy for taking my story down off of that fanfiction website. NEVER DO THAT AGAIN, and I mean it. Please, to the rest of you, REVIEW! I'm desperate for reviews! Please!_


	12. Chapter 12: Senator Bulgrasse

She ran her hands through her short black hair, her brows knotting together as she examined her room. She wasn't particularly sure why she was so anxious about this mission; according to Qui-Gon, it was merely an escort mission. But her heart twisted painfully every time she thought of the mission that she had taken with Master Wathearu; the mission that should have been "routine". Ana, above all people, knew how differently "routine" missions could turn when something went wrong. She clipped her lightsaber onto her belt and closed her eyes, willing her hands not to tremble. This was not the time for fear or apprehension. She knew she needed to release it into the Force, but her fear was building painfully inside her chest. Something probably would have broken or snapped had there not been a gentle knock on her door. Ana stiffened and her eyes opened, then she turned to the door, licking her lips worriedly. She touched the Force briefly with her mind, stroking the currents that pulled her to the conclusion that Clah'Diam was outside. "Come in," she said, surprised at the weakness of her own voice. The door hissed open and the short Twi'Lek came in, her dimpled face smiling and cheerful. As soon as she saw Ana's anxious face, the smile dropped and a sympathetic expression flickered on her face.

"Oh, Ana, it isn't that bad, is it?" she asked, sitting down on the bed. "Its just an escort mission. Qui-Gon will keep you safe, I know that. Don't you trust him?" she asked. Ana clenched her fists, fighting back the tears that were springing to her eyes. She pried her jaws apart and answered her, keeping her head bowed so her friend would not see the hot blush nor the tears.

"I _do_ trust him, if only a bit; and that is what I fear for, Clah'Diam. He will be able to protect me, I have no doubt; but can I protect him? I failed my last Master, disobeyed his specific orders and he paid for it with his life! How can I go on another mission knowing that if I error in any way, it might cost Qui-Gon dearly?" she said, and she felt her shoulders tense as Clah'Diam approached her from behind. She still hated to be approached from behind - it always made her feel as though she were being stalked.

"It's a good sign, Ana," Clah'Diam soothed. "You care for Qui-Gon and you don't want him to be hurt. If you work together, you'll both be fine. He is very fond of you, Ana. And I know you are fond of him, or at least you are a little bit." she smiled a little, knowing her friend better than anyone else. Clah'Diam was probably the only one aware of her friend's mingled feelings of betrayal, trust, need, and fear. It was complicated, and Clah'Diam wanted to be there every step of the way.

"I have to go," Ana said softly, running her hands through her hair again, mussing it and sending a shock of blue-black curls into her eyes. "Qui-Gon is waiting for me, and I don't wish to keep him that way." She half-turned, and Clah'Diam saw the apprehension in her eyes. "Will you come down to the docking bay with me?" It was more of a plead than a question, and Clah'Diam heard it. The Twi'Lek smiled.

"Of course I will. I'll always be with you, Ana. You know that."

* * *

><p>Qui-Gon saw her coming up the docking bay with Clah'Diam at her side. Even from this distance, his sensitive ears could hear the Twi'Lek burbling happily about something or other, most likely what her Master had taught her to do. Ana was fidgeting, running her hands through her hair every now and then. Her dark curls were rumpled and messy, but somehow it would have looked halfway appealing had her eyes not contained so much fear in them. He knew what she was thinking, knew that the last mission she had been on was a disaster, a disaster that had scarred her for life most likely. But he was determined to alleviate her fears in any way possible. All she needed was confidence and, with the blessing of the Force, she would be fine. As they came up beside him, he saw the worn leather traveling bag that was far too big for Ana slung about her waist. It had probably been Wathearu's. Qui-Gon relieved her of it and greeted Clah'Diam. "Good morning, Clah'Diam. Have you come to see your friend off?" he asked. Clah'Diam smiled at him, but the smile had a layer of something he couldn't quite recognize. It almost appeared to be a <em>knowing<em> smile.

"Yes, I have. I hope you have a good mission, both of you," she said, and embraced Ana quickly. Ana had a look of grim determination on her face, but she could feel the rolling waves of nausea churning in her stomach. Clah'Diam added something in her ear that Qui-Gon couldn't quite catch, but made Ana look a little less frightened and a little more eager to begin the mission. She followed Qui-Gon up the stairs to the sleek white spacer, running her fingertips briefly along the edge of the beautiful craft. Qui-Gon noticed her approving look at the slender ship.

"You like Nubians, I see," he said with a smile. "This ship is the best in its class. Senator Bulgrasse likes to travel elegantly; Nubians are part of his signature. That, and several glasses of rock-steeped whiskey before eleven o'clock in the morning." This part was added with a regretful chuckle. Ana swallowed nervously, but tried to focus on the mission ahead. And she should _not_ be examining his broad shoulders in that manner, she told herself firmly. Especially not with she saw the muscles ripple under his accommodating beige cloak … She chastised herself and bit the inside of her lip to keep her mind off of Qui-Gon.

"So who are we protecting?" she asked, fiercely telling herself to keep her mind on the mission. "The other day you spoke of Senator Bulgrasse, but why would he need protection?" Qui-Gon didn't answer for a moment as he stowed their bags in a small room off to the side. Then he gestured for Ana to sit down on one of the plush, mauve-colored seats that were camped around a small table.

"Senator Bulgrasse is a very peculiar politician," he said after a minute. "He is one of a kind in most galaxies. He speaks his mind, plainly and simply, and does not mince words at all. He believes in order and structure, simplicity and organization."

"So why do we need to protect him?" Ana said, giving Qui-Gon a puzzled look. She felt the rumbling of the engine starting and her hands instantly went to the arm rests. She despised flying until they were in hyperdrive. Then it was smooth and easy, but the beginning bumps always made her feel sick.

"Because as such, he makes a very bad negotiator. He is not glib at all; in fact, the more passionate he gets, the more insulting he becomes. And we are going on a planet where social structure is very important. If he insults the wrong politician or the wrong relation, there is a very good chance he will be imprisoned. The planet Iridonia is very harsh on newcomers; we shall have a bit of respect since we are of the Jedi Order, and they think very highly of us. I would recommend letting the Senator do most of the talking; if he appears to be offending anyone, I shall step in."

_So what am I going to do,_ Ana wondered. Qui-Gon quirked a brow at her thoughtful face. "You are to watch and observe. There is more to the Jedi Order than dueling and sparring. Your physical strength is very impressive, but now you will be tested as a peacemaker and a negotiator. This will be especially difficult considering the politicians we are about to meet will take great stock in what you say." he said.

"But why would they care about what I have to say?" Ana asked aloud. "I am simply a Padawan, and a young one at that." Qui-Gon shrugged.

"King Bu-taan, who is the current leader of Iridonia, takes great value in the minority. If you do not offer your opinion, there is a good chance he will ask it of you, especially if he likes you. Although I am told it is rather difficult to win his favor. As it is with most leaders, King Bu-taan is very temperamental and fickle." Qui-Gon said.

The slender Nubian purred as it began taxiing down the runway. There was a brief, sudden blast of sound as the engines sparked to life, and the ship pulled smoothly out of the hangar. Ana clenched her teeth and swore not to look out the window until they were safely in hyperdrive. Qui-Gon noted her frightened demeanor and he stroked her wrist, soothing her. "Do you wish do see the Senator before we arrive?" he asked gently. Ana swallowed hard. Anything to get her out of this blasted seat.

* * *

><p>The Senator Bulgrasse was certainly a character. He was sitting on a huge couch which was covered with plush furs of all different colors, and he was smoking a cigar. The cigar was letting off an extremely sweet-smelling smoke, something like vanilla and strawberries. It was most pleasant, but almost bitter in its cloying sweetness. He was a short, square man with a balding head and a scruffy gray beard. He wore most unconventional clothes: a denim shirt buttoned over his considerable belly, pointy-toed boots, and a large silver belt buckle gleaming in the overhead lights. A hat was slouched over his eyes, but he knocked it upwards with one knuckle as he saw Qui-Gon approach. A large grin split his craggy features; he looked quite Southern and very simplistic, despite the luxury of his surroundings. "Well, slap me with a stick and call me a piñata! Fancy seein' you again, Qui-Gon!" He had a thick drawl that slurred along his words, and the dip in his vowels were greatly enhanced by the tumbler of amber liquid in his left hand.<p>

"May I present my new Padawan, La'Ana Shaddem?" Qui-Gon said, his voice dropping to a low purr that sounded as though the Senator would be doing a him a great favor if he acquiesced. Ana wanted to clap her hands over her ears. The purr was maddeningly sultry and almost seductive, and it was doing queer things to every nerve in her body. It felt like a shockwave had just stroked down her spine.

"Well, ain't you a pretty little thang," Senator Bulgrasse cooed, a cockeyed smile curling the left side of his mouth. He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. "What's a swee' little thang like you doin' with an old man like Qui-Gon?" Ana, not being able to find a sufficient answer to that, said nothing, but Qui-Gon merely shook his head and gave a smile that was a little too revealing for Ana's liking.

"La'Ana is doing me a large favor by being here at all and gracing us with her most _lovely_ presence." Qui-Gon said with a sidelong look at Ana. Ana scowled at him. He was doing this on purpose, she decided. She spoke up and glared hard at Qui-Gon before answering.

"Yes, I most certainly am. Senator, it was charming to meet your acquaintance, but I shall have to go _meditate_ for now." this was accentuated by a hard nudge to Qui-Gon's ribs. Qui-Gon was knocked backwards half a step and he flashed a mischievous smile at Ana, who went off with her nose in the air. Bulgrasse blew a waft of sweet-smelling smoke after her, and raised an eyebrow at Qui-Gon.

"Pretty little thang," he commented. "She seein' anyone?" He roared with laughter at the mingled exasperation and surprise on Qui-Gon's face. "Aw, I'm just kiddin', Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon certainly hoped he was.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Again, short chapter, but the next one will be longer I promise! _

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	13. Chapter 13: Iridonia And BuTaan

_She was there once more. She smelled the dirt, the putrid stench of human waste and filth as she stood rigidly in the center of the primitive village. She felt the approaching rumble of thunder, felt the growl shake her core as she tasted the coming rain in the damp air. She was parched, and she felt every stinging cut on her back and legs and breasts where the thin, snakelike whips had cut into her. Her eyes blazed with anger as she once more twisted her small wrists in the cruelly tight ropes, the blood from the deep chafes oozing faster onto her fingers and dripping onto the dirt. There was the sound of whoops and hollers, people shrieking in a strange language as they danced around her. The huge bonfire, set fifty feet or more in front of her, sent a crackling shower of sparks whirling in the air. It was so far away, but she could still feel the blazing heat. The masks were spinning around her once again. She saw their masks, wooden things with exaggerated tears of blood painted on their hard surfaces. Huge, gaping, jeering mouths let loose a string of obscenities in a foreign language at her, and she twisted the ropes once more._

_Then she felt him. His presence was so unlike any other presence she had ever felt, a warm, encompassing heat that was building in her chest. She felt the Force around her hum in approval as she felt his consciousness encircle hers, felt the raw anger and rage thudding dully in his chest. She knew he was coming for her. Knew he was about to rescue her. And she tried to warn him, tried to send him a message through the Force that it wasn't safe, he should call for backup … but the drugs that were still rampaging through her system was stopping her, blanketing her in a muffling power that she couldn't get out of. She felt a drop of rain patter onto her forehead, and she turned her face upwards._

_He was there, suddenly and quickly, his stocky frame quickly threading through the crowds. In his fairness, he waited until the natives were determined to be hostile before unclipping his lightsaber and slicing through two of the gibbering natives with one quick thrust. He was everywhere, his feet hardly touching the ground as he twirled his way over to her, defending both himself and his beloved Padawan. She felt hope surge in her chest once more, and then he was in front of her. The sharp, spicy smell of basil flooded her nostrils. She felt the lightsaber slicing through the bonds, and she fell to her knees before she felt his supporting arm._

_She saw the arrow being notched languidly to the bow, saw the masked tribal leader grinning fiendishly as he drew back the string in a massive arc. She heard the sweet, whistling thump, felt his muscles tense, heard his guttural groan as the arrow made contact. Once more a scream tore from her throat, and once more she felt the Force shake with the sheer power of her rage and intensity. Again she felt the heavens split open, pouring rain onto the dying Master and his stricken Padawan, dampening the gray hair and the black, Ana's hair shielding his face like a wet curtain. She felt his calloused fingers skim her chin as he groped blindly for her, and then she felt the life go out of him._

"Ana!"

His voice shook her back to reality, and she realized her face was wet; not with rain, but with tears. She was sobbing blindly once more, and she clung fiercely to Qui-Gon's tunic. Her breath was coming in jagged gasps, and she tore open her eyes so she could drown in his smoky blue orbs. It worked, and she saw the deep concern for her in them. Her breathing slowed, and her tears slowed to a trickle. But she didn't let go of him, merely buried her face in his tunic. Qui-Gon ran his large, calloused hand through her short curls, whispering words of endearment in every language he knew. He was reminded how broken she was, and he continued stroking her hair as he fought back his own demons which were raring in his chest. "Ana, it's all right," he soothed. "You're fine. You're safe, with me."

It was those words, more than anything, that brought her back to reality. She pushed Qui-Gon away, rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, and sat up. Her dark green eyes were dull and listless, and he knew she had been dreaming about Wathearu. She swung her feet out of the small cot where she had been sleeping and stood, stretching. She felt him pull her firmly against his broad chest, both his strong arms wrapping around her waist. His beard was a tickle against her neck. In a split second, she went from achingly horrified to painfully aroused. She felt him purr a question into her ear, inquire if she was all right, but she could do nothing but inhale the musky, deep scent of him, as if she were devouring him in one breath. One more tear trailed down her rosy cheek, and she reached up to scuff it away hastily before Qui-Gon saw, but he caught her wrist gently. Slowly, with infinite grace and care, he wiped the tear from her cheek. Call it clichéd. Call it whatever you will. It was that simple gesture that made Ana's head swim. She knew now what it was whenever she looked at him, the desire to be held in his arms, the longing to have him brush against her hand once more. The feeling had a name, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating, a word that made her want to laugh and sing and cry all at once.

Love.

Ana pushed away from Qui-Gon, her chest heaving. Her mind clicked into place, the gears and bolts whirring as she realized what she had just thought. That was ridiculous, she told herself. She wasn't in_ love_ with Qui-Gon. No, she couldn't be. She was merely attracted to him. That was all. And there was nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, she told herself. She wouldn't turn to the Dark Side just because she was _attracted_ to him. So she turned to him and swallowed hard, forced a calm look on her face, and met his eye. "I'm fine. Really. Just a bad dream. Have we landed?"

He took in her tight, clipped sentences, her decidedly neutral expression, her firmness in speech that told him clearly that she did not want to discuss what had just happened. Because he felt it to, that fleeting shock in the Force, felt her surprise at something that he had done. But if she wanted to ignore it, he could as well. "Yes, we have. That was why I came to wake you." he said, and took her hand. She didn't flinch or draw away from him, but instead did something very odd. Instead of just clasping his hand, she threaded her fingers through his and squeezed once, tightly. It was as though she were reassuring herself that he was still here, still alive, still breathing.

"Let's go," she said, breaking the connection and fleeing the room as though the Siths themselves were at her heels.

* * *

><p>She was very disappointed.<p>

Iridonia was as flat and hard as a plate, with absolutely no loose sand atop its scorched desert wasteland. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but hard yellow dirt and tiny scrub that were dried and wizened from the heat. Four suns circled the planet, each circular orange ball dipping and rising at different heights, keeping the sky in a near-constant state of sunrise or sunset. As it was, the sky was a pale blue shaded with a tinge of brassy red, marking the descent of the second sun. Ana had questioned Clah'Diam about Iridonia before she left = the young Twi'Lek had been there on a mission two years ago - and the blue-skinned woman had given her a big smile. "Very green," she had said. "You'll love it." But all that Ana could see was more and more nothing, her eyes straining to see even the faintest smudge of greenery in the distance. The captain, a blonde man with a cigarette perpetually dangling from the corner of his mouth, swung himself out of the plane. "Like Iridonia?" he asked, his voice layered with amusement. "It's a great vacation spot."

"I can see why," Ana said sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want to come here and do nothing but bake all day in the sun with no water in sight?" She heard Qui=Gon rumble a chuckle behind her, felt his presence dangerously close to her back.

"Have patience, Padawan," he said. "Here is our transport." Ahead of him, several yards away, four speeders were neatly parked, keys winking brightly in the sunlight. Senator Bulgrasse heaved his bulk down the stairs and stretched. Ana winced. She could hear the joints cracking even from this distance. The drawling Senator slouched over to the speeders and slapped one fondly.

"Them Zabraks. Always makin' sure we travel in style." he boomed a thunderous laugh, and positioned himself on one of the speeders. "Y'all comin'?" he bellowed, waving to Qui-Gon and Ana. The two of them selected speeders, and Qui-Gon noticed a self-satisfied smile curling Ana's lips. Apparently she had some expertise with a speeder. The blonde captain chose the fourth speeder, and Qui-Gon felt an unknown twinge in his chest as the appraising look Ana gave him as he gunned the throttle.

Ana sped off, flicking the throttle wide and keeping her wrist loose. The speeder jerked as it shot forward, leaving behind the rest of them in a cloud of dust. Bulgrasse roared with laughter and gunned his speeder, trying to catch up to her, and the blonde captain was soon in hot pursuit. Qui-Gon followed at a much more dignified pace, chuckling to himself as he saw Ana pulling fancy figure eights. He sniffed at the captain's crazy loops. He checked their backs, and told himself he would be the rearguard.

Someone, after all, had to be the mature one.

They passed over the hot, dry, bumpy plains of Iridonia, zipping around a few crumpled cacti and even less uprooted, dead tumbleweeds. Qui-Gon saw the look of utter determination on Ana's face as she zigzagged around Bulgrasse and the captain, clearly showing off her more-than-adept skills at racing. For once, he didn't lecture her. She had precious little time to be a Padawan, and she should get all of her childish nerves out before they reached the capitol. He caught her eye and she flashed him a grin - a real grin, one that beckoned of promise and excitement and adventure. It was beautifully captivating on her face, and for a moment he almost lost control of his speeder. Then she was off again, buzzing around the Senator like a fly.

It swelled up suddenly in front of them without warning. A gigantic glass dome, stretching to the heavens and splitting the parched desert, flashing in the midday sunlight. Ana stopped completely, her jaw agape as she saw the huge semi-circle of glass, the largest structure she had seen before, even on Coruscant. Inside, she could see the huge skyscrapers and bustling city, the streets striping the ground, and, far more importantly, she could see the rushing streams, the thick meadows, and the plunging waterfalls. A gigantic butterscotch-colored palace in the middle yawned expansively in front of them, and Qui-Gon laughed aloud at the look on Ana's face. She had been expecting a primitive colony of huts, and she was greeted instead with a beautiful industrial city with plenty of wildlife. Two massive gates, gigantic behemoths that towered to the sky, stretched in front of them. Ana steeled herself to greet a stiff=faced guard, and there was a slim man who was wearing clean, natty clothes. His uniform was pristinely starched and he wore no helmet, but Qui-Gon noticed the tri-barrel water-cooled blaster hanging at his hip. The guard smiled tightly at them, showing plenty of teeth but no heart. "Welcome to Iridonia, travelers! Do you have identification?" he asked.

"Yes, we do," Qui-Gon said, and he took out a small leather passport. The holo-picture winked in the sun, and Ana was temporarily blinded. "I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my Padawan, La'Ana Shaddem. We are here on a Galactic convoy with Senator Bulgrasse and his captain, Marcus Lu'teh." The guard nodded once, and once again flashed them a false smile.

"Excellent! We've been waiting for you all week. Step right this way. His Highness is waiting for you, although I highly suggest you visit our famous saunas. They are quite well known in _this_ part of the galaxy." He said, a disparaging tone creeping into his voice, as if to suggest they were separated not only by galaxies. Ana instantly didn't like him, and judging by the way Bulgrasse spit his wad of tobacco dangerously close to the guard's feet, the Senator didn't either.

* * *

><p>They followed a winding stone path that skirted around the industrial downtown of Iridonia's Capital, which was simplistically called Capitol Square, and into a lush garden. Qui-Gon could see that Ana was quite taken with the garden, and her fingers teased the heady blossoms once or twice as she inhaled the dainty scent. Before they emerged from the gardens, they were covered from head to foot in a thick perfume. The footpath curved delicately around a glassy pool that had one corner of it pummeled by a churning white waterfall that plunged straight down into the slippery surface. A tree, fabulously covered with tiny purple blossoms, acted as a screen for a private garden area, and Captain Marcus has to push aside the trailing branches so they could enter. It was almost a curtain of blossoms that showered them with tiny purple petals that rested lightly on Ana's shoulders and spiky black hair. As they entered the small clearing, she saw exactly why Bu-Taan was king.<p>

He was lounging on a pile of plush pillows, all of them fringed and tasseled, covered with feathers and buttons. He was bare chested, showing off swirling black and red tattoos on his chest and arms and a lithe, lightly muscled torso. His skin was a rich chocolate black, and when he greeted them with a smile, he revealed two rows of gleaming white teeth that contrasted vividly with the darkness of his skin. A pair of white pants with a purple sash at the waist and ankles was all he wore, and a braided crown of grass and blue ribbons hung regally on his shaved head. Two earrings dangled in his ears, and he wore three rings on each hand. It wasn't surprising to Qui-Gon, who often encountered kings of such riches, but it fairly took Ana's breath away. To his left was an ice tiger, every bit of raw muscle and blue stripes, the enormous shaggy head rippling once as it growled the arrival of newcomers. A fine golden chain was clipped to a jeweled collar on the beast's neck, and Ana highly doubted that the beautiful chain would have any significance if the monster actually wanted to escape. As it was, the tiger was too well trained and too well fed to be of any nuisance, for he merely yawned lazily and let out a deep, growling purr. Qui=Gon bowed deeply, and Ana followed his lead.

"Ah, the _Jedi_," Bu-Taan drawled. "Sit, sit, please." he waved languidly to two servants, similarly clothed and colored, who rushed forward and placed four thick cushions behind the visitors. Bu-Taan had a peculiar accent, both lazy and sleek, yet at the same time brusque and clipped. "We have been waiting for a long time, Jedi." He said, but there was no accusation in his voice.

"You have our humble apologies, Your Highness," Qui-Gon said quietly. He motioned to Ana to sit down, and she did so, quietly but awkwardly. She felt silly sitting on a pillow. Bu-Taan's dark eyes slid from Qui-Gon, who had gracefully taken a seat, to Ana, who was trying to look diplomatic and solemn while eyeing the tiger and counting the odds if it would eat her, to Bulgrasse, who was still standing, and chewing a fresh lump of tobacco. Marcus lounged on his pillow and threaded his fingers through the furry carpet of green grass as if he did this every day, and he winked at Ana, who scowled at him. Finally, Bu-Taan roused himself and locked eyes with Qui-Gon.

"I see you are a fair man, Jedi," Bu-Taan said. "And I have heard of this … Senator _Bulgrasse_." He added with a slight sneer. From the look on his face and the disdain in his voice, it sounded as though everything he had heard about him was true, and not all of it was good. "But who is this young couple who sit before me, exchanging glances? Your daughter, Jedi?"

"Allow me to correct you, Your Highness," Qui-Gon said gently, releasing his anger at being called old, albeit indirectly, into the Force, "but this young woman is my Padawan Learner, La'Ana Shaddem. This young man is our captain, Marcus Lu'teh."

"Ah, I see," Bu-Taan said, lazily stroking his ice tiger. "La'Ana," he purred, the silky tones dipping and gliding around her name and making it do pirouettes in his mouth. "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Rise, La'Ana, and approach me." She did so hesitantly, and knelt in front of him. He studied her, taking in the full cheeks, pouting lips, dark forest green eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes that made her appear elegant and disdainful, the short Padawan braid and her spike of black hair that was perpetually hanging in her eyes. "Tell me, La'Ana, how old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty two, Majesty, but I shall turn twenty three in two months." she answered honestly. His fingers, ringed and sparkling in the sunlight, tipped her chin back as he appraised her. Finally, he graced her with a broad smile.

"You are young yet, Padawan La'Ana. And you still have much to learn." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and she hurried back to Qui-Gon, kneeling on her pillow once more. "And now, Senator _Bulgrasse_," he said, once more sneering at the name. "I refuse to conduct business when the heat is so unbearable. We shall talk, at greater length, this evening. I command that you eat dinner with me, and I hope you bring your appetites." He clapped his hands twice, and they all rose and left. Ana spared a glance behind her, and childishly stuck out her tongue at the chained ice tiger. The tiger roared and stood up.

Ana hurried after Qui-Gon.

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	14. Chapter 14: Strong Emotions

The robes she tugged over her head were not much different from her usual Padawan robes, except that the stitching was smaller and neater, and a simplistic design of flowers had been embroidered onto the sleeves and hem. However, the colors were the same - drab browns leggings, pale tunic, beige robes - but they fit her better and made her appear prettier than she actually was. Her curly black hair had been wet down and combed out in an effort to make it stay flat; but as it dried it spiked up in back in a messy cowlick, tempered only by the small Padawan braid hanging down her back. A rustic brass bracelet, an old gift from Clah'Diam for fancy parties, had been slipped onto one wrist. Other than that, she wore no makeup and no jewelry. Her lightsaber was comfortably heavy on her left hip, and she stroked the grooved hilt absently, gripping it in one hand as she examined herself in the mirror. A brisk knock at the door startled her, and she cursed herself for not paying attention. She reached out to the Force and felt a familiar twinge that marked the presence of Qui-Gon. A pleasant heat settled in her belly as she called out to him, a heat that was not unpleasant but foreign all the same. "Come in." she called, not taking her eyes off her reflection. The door hissed open, and Qui-Gon's colossal frame entered, his stormy blue-gray eyes lighting up when he saw her. One eyebrow arched as he took in the easy robes, small designs, and flattering cut of her cream colored tunic. She was anxiously tugging at a brass bracelet that had been hammered many times, grooving the surface in a delicate, intricate fashion. Her eyes met his in the mirror. "I'm ready," she said, snapping his attention away from the hidden realms behind the dip in her collar.

"Good. His Majesty has sent for us," Qui-Gon said, and gestured to the doorway. "You look lovely." he added, taking a long, careful evaluation of her outfit. He had seen Padawans dress in gaudy and attention-getting robes, which only managed to ignite lust in the diplomats, and he had seen Padawans dress in the most boring robes ever sewn. Ana had somehow managed to find a robe that was tasteful and modest, elegant yet simple. She rolled her eyes and tugged at the robes, frowning at her stomach.

"I keep thinking it makes me look fat," she said, and then eyed him. He was the one who looked absolutely stunning. Whoever had picked out his robes knew him very well, because the plain black robes suited him perfectly. His huge, powerful body was accentuated here and there, the fabric cupping his rangy frame now and then. He shook his head, the corner of his beard twitching as he smiled at his Padawan. Without saying a word, the two of them entered the formal hall of King Bu-Taan, the leading Emperor of Iridonia.

* * *

><p>Ana could not restrain a gasp as they entered the formal dining hall. An oaken table stretched to the opposite wall, sagging mightily under the weight of the elaborate dishes. A hundred places had been set, and at the far end was a pile of plush pillows, where the king was lounging once more, his ice tiger once again chained to his side. Each plate had a name card on it, and it took a moment for Ana to realize that the place cards were wafer-thin marble chips, painted beautifully in golden calligraphy, spelling out the names of the attending guests. The glasses were already half-full of some brilliant, sparkling liquid that danced in the bright glow of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The chairs were carved intricately with symbols and beads, and the crimson cushions had been embroidered painstakingly with silver thread. A roaring fire blazed in a large fireplace, and logs easily the breadth of Ana's leg were crumbling to embers already. The white-and-blue ice tiger yawned and stretched lazily as the two Jedis approached, his silvery eyes awake and alert as he panted. Bu-Taan did not get up as they approached, and accepted their bows with a regal nod. A smile curved his lips as he looked at Ana, his black eyes glowing with the light of the fire and some deeper, inner glow that beamed approval. "La'Ana," he drawled once more, waving easily at the chair to his left. "Sit, please." Despite the last word, the phrase still had a bite of a command to it. Ana supposed he didn't even know he was taking this tone, seeing as he had been a ruler all his life. She allowed Qui-Gon to pull out her chair for her, and then took her seat, giving Bu-Taan her full attention. The king seemed interested in this little exchange between the master and his apprentice, and leaned forward slightly, his velvet chocolate skin rippling over smooth muscles. "How was your bath, La'Ana?" he purred, his suggestive tone indicating that he wanted to know intimate details of exactly what she did in the bath.<p>

Qui-Gon felt an uncomfortable burn in his stomach when he heard Bu-Taan's tone. More infuriating was the equally sweet voice in which Ana answered him, one eyebrow raising demurely as she shifted her weight towards the king, crossing her legs unconsciously. Her green eyes were half closed and she offered him a slow, sugary smile. "It was … magical, Your Majesty," she said, her dulcet tones dipping and layering the perfectly innocent words until they sounded positively seductive. "I have never had a similar experience." King Bu-Taan seemed delighted with her response, and he reached forward and took his glass carefully.

"I am pleased that you liked it, La'Ana," he said. "And now, taste this and tell me if it is worth anything." He lifted his chalice - studded heavily with glimmering sapphires that winked brightly in the firelight - to her lips, and she sipped from it. Qui-Gon felt his hands snap to fists underneath the table as their eyes locked, and two smiles spread across their faces. Little minx! He felt crescent moons of pain digging into his calloused palms, and he forced himself to relax. Ana's eyes opened wide as she swallowed the fiery golden liquid, the taste blooming in her mouth as she dismantled the complex flavors of ripe peach, stinging alcohol, and ending in a crescendo of vibrating bubbles that sang in her mouth. At her expression, Bu-Taan's smile widened. "It is my special wine, only used for occasions such as this. Do you like it?"

"Like it? I _love_ it, Your Majesty," Ana whispered, allowing one corner of her hand to skim his as he set the goblet back down on the table. Qui-Gon would have said something, had not the gigantic doors opened and guests began filing in. He bit his tongue as he watched Bu-Taan and Ana finished their silent flirting, the long, lingering glance ending as they both turned to face the horde of people who were coming gracefully through the doors.

As the guests arrived, it became abundantly clear that both Jedis were the plainest dressed. Dresses dripping with golden chains were hanging on statuesque women with hair piled on their heads, hanging on the arms of handsome men. Most of the men were shirtless and barefoot, preferring to leave the dresses to the women, but they had enough jewelry on them to account for a tenth of the galaxy's wealth. One at a time they took their seats, the women arranging their long legs and ruffled skirts, the men eyeing the other women and puffing out chests as they stacked their trophy dates against the other ones here. One of the women, a pale girl with thick curly red hair that was piled attractively on her head except for a few curls which tumbled into her light blue eyes, winked at Qui-Gon and raised her glass in a salute. Ana felt a similar clench in her stomach when she saw it, and fought to control her rampaging emotions that were crashing through her veins. Taking a breath, she released her anger into the Force and turned her attention instead to Bu-Taan, who had tapped his spoon against his chalice and was preparing to make a sort of speech. The hall instantly fell silent and the beautiful men and women turned silently to face their ruler. "Friends and family," Bu-Taan began. "Before we being our _excellent_ feast, I must present to you our visiting guests. Senator, please rise." Senator Bulgrasse, looking rather foppish in a velvet smoking jacket that had buttons straining to pop over his wide belly, jerked his head once and sat back down. Bu-Taan raised one eyebrow in a disdainful expression. "The good Senator has come to our planet to explain the treaty to us. And his most excellent and valuable guards have also partaken of our hospitality. We have the honor of housing two of the Jedi order in our halls, my friends."

There were a few appreciative gasps as the guests silently took in the two Jedis once more. Bu-Taan clapped his hands twice, hushing them aggressively. "And now, friends, let us cease in our chatter and begin our feast!" As soon as he finished speaking, five doors opened and waiters poured out bearing trays of steaming food. Ana felt her napkin being tucked around her neck by a young waiter, her goblet being filled by another, and yet another waiter dishing a square of some delicious looking meat onto her plate. She was bewildered by the questions from the servants that suddenly exploded upon her ears, and settled for agreeing to anything. She lifted a forkful of food to her mouth and taste exploded, sending her reeling. The meat was rich, buttery smooth, and dripping juicily onto her place. She dimly heard a question from the king and she waved and nodded, yes, yes, anything, anything, but she wanted to keep these tastes in her mouth.

She could never remember exactly what she ate that night, nor exactly what she talked about. The entire evening passed in a blur, colors and sights and emotions swirling together. Flashes of conversation appeared to her at random moments even years later; she remembered the taste of something creamy and icily cold, sweet and tangy all at once; she remembered a very long conversation with Bu-Taan about trading laws, and above all she remembered the barely concealed murder in Qui-Gon's eyes every time Bu-Taan and Ana touched. Ana felt the redhead eyeing Qui-Gon, and the jealousy flared within her once more. Every time the young woman tried to get Qui-Gon's attention, Ana would quickly turn to Bu-Taan and ask him a question, careful to maintain a respectful demeanor but hinting at seduction. Bu-Taan was enjoying it immensely, and before too long it was feeding her bits of ripe fruit from his fingers. Each time her pretty rosebud mouth closed around Bu-Taan's long, dark, elegant fingers, Qui-Gon felt himself die a little more.

When the guests rose, groaning from the fullness of their stomachs, thanking Bu-Taan, and left, Senator Bulgrasse pulled out his pipe. He had kept rudely quiet, answering only pointed questions, and was now smoking like a chimney. Ana had migrated to a cushion next to Bu-Taan, and Qui-Gon was rapidly disappearing behind a chilly mask that had clamped on his face like a vice. A haze of blue smoke, smelling sharply of vanilla and nutmeg, wafted to them from the Senator's pipe. Bulgrasse grunted and folded his arms, glancing at Bu-Taan. "Nice liddle shin-dig," he said, reluctantly bestowing his approval. Bu-Taan felt a little prick of annoyance at Bulgrasse's lack of respect, but his fingers were twining themselves in Ana's hair and he couldn't stay displeased at anyone when he was in such a good mood. Instead, he ran one finger down Ana's shoulder and smiled at Bulgrasse.

"We are well known for our festivities, Senator," he purred. The ice tiger next to him growled his approval, shifting its considerable bulk. It was hard to tell who looked angrier; Qui-Gon, looking at the salacious flirting between Bu-Taan and Ana, or the muscular ice tiger, faced with platters of delicious meat just out of his reach. Ana was pleasantly numb from the frequent sips of wine from Bu-Taan's chalice, and from the attention she was receiving from the king. It was heady and spicy and delicious, and the fact that Qui-Gon was so angry only made her more pleased. She was quite sure why, however. She heard Bu-Taan speaking, and she snapped herself back to the conversation. "And now, to business," Bu-Taan was saying. "May I see the treaty?"

Senator Bulgrasse tugged out a thick wad of papers from inside his vest pocket, flattening them on the table before passing them to the king. The dark-skinned ruler gave the creased papers a cursory glance, and them tossed them dismissively on the table. "What of it?" he asked. "I see nothing but … what you call? _Mumbo jumbo_. Why then have you come to our planet?"

"Because you still use slaves," Bulgrasse said brusquely. "And in that there treaty, iffin yeh bothered to read it, it says that there can't be a slave trade. Now, frankly, the Senate knows about ya'll's trade systems, and we don't think it'll be too much of a problem to change it a bit."

Ana felt Bu-Taan tense, and his hand buried itself in the thick shaggy coat of the ice tiger. "You use a very insolent tone, Senator," Bu-Taan sneered. "And you are very lucky that I find your other friends more hospitable, otherwise I would not tolerate this insolence." Ana looked up, blinked once, and stroked his wrist. He looked down at her and relaxed slightly, taking in her displeasure over his outburst.

"Forgive him, Your Majesty," Qui-Gon said, interrupting the tense moment. "The good Senator knows little of your customs. We have examined the numbers and seen that your economic structure will not undergo too much strain if you forfeit your slave trade. It is for the betterment of the galaxy, Your Highness."

Bu-Taan waved one hand. "We will talk tomorrow in my gardens," he commanded imperiously. "Show them to their rooms. And Bulgrasse…" he added, impaling the pudgy senator with his black eyes, "do not venture out of the grounds. My ice tiger, Efa, is released on the grounds at night to keep away any unsavory characters. It would be a _tragic_ loss if you met him." His dark glare contradicted his sympathetic words, and instead folded his arms and watched the senator depart.

Ana got up, and Bu-Taan caught her hand, his mood changing from anger to delight like bending light. "La'Ana, would you do me the extreme pleasure of joining me for lunch tomorrow?" he asked, his accent swelling and dipping over his words. Then his eyes flicked upwards. "You are also invited, Jedi," he said. Qui-Gon nodded, bowed, and gestured impatiently to Ana to come along. Reluctantly it seemed, Ana got up and followed him out of the hall, sparing one last glance at the handsome king.

* * *

><p>When they were safely out of earshot of Bu-Taan and his consorts, Qui-Gon whirled around and faced Ana, his brow furrowed in anger. "Ana! By the Force, what was that?" he asked, controlling his temper by the meanest strain of his self control. Ana looked surprised, and threaded her fingers through her hair, mussing it slightly and giving her a rumpled look. It was a movement she did often when she was stressed or uncomfortable, or under inquisition by her Master.<p>

"What was what?" she asked innocently, keeping her eyes downcast. "Bu-Taan makes wonderful conversation. It is something _you_ would know nothing about." Her forest green eyes were becoming darker and darker, but she kept her simmering rage in check.

"That was not conversation, Ana!" Qui-Gon said, allowing a particle of his heated anger to creep into his icy tones. "You acted in a manner unbefitting a Padawan. Do not, under any circumstances, lead on Bu-Taan like you did tonight. Royalty are fickle, and the last thing we need is for you to form an attachment to a foreign dictator."

"Form an attachment?" Ana asked in disbelief. "You think I actually harbor feelings for him? Qui-Gon, I do not easily form attachments. The Code forbids it, as you very well know."

"The Code did not stop you from forming an attachment to Wathearu," Qui-Gon said ruthlessly. "And you can see where that got him." There was an awful, thick silence that matched the woodenness in Ana's eyes. When she brought her green eyes up to meet his smoky blue ones, they were hard and brittle as ice.

"This is nothing like Wathearu," she spat, her voice sounding remarkably akin to a cornered tabby. "And I will thank you to keep your nose out of my business! What is so terrible about receiving a few compliments? Force knows I get little from you!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and yet Qui-Gon seemed not to notice.

"Stay out of his way," he growled, sounding bitterly angry. "And do not meet him by yourself. That is an order, Padawan." He heard Ana release a guttural snarl as she recoiled from him when he used that word.

"I am _not_ your Padawan, Qui-Gon!" she snapped. "Masters understand their Padawans! You have no concept of me! Get away from me!" She fled, leaving behind a dry sob echoing around the cavernous hall.

* * *

><p><em>AN: *Waves hand* You WILL review, and you WILL give me some concrit to keep me on track. Too much anger? Too little? More arguments? Dramatic confession? Date with Bu-Taan? Jealous Qui-Gon? (That's always fun to write). REVIEW!_


	15. Chapter 15: Forbidden Attraction

Three hours and forty nine minutes.

That was how long Ana had been gone. He had not followed her, not even tried to contact her through their mental link. He had lost his temper - again. They both needed time to cool down and regroup before seeing each other once more. But the more he thought about her, a tongue of anger flickered up inside him. That was not his Ana that he had seen, not the Ana he had trained and wooed to trust him, not the wildcat of a Padawan who had managed to drive away all of her friends save one. That was not the Ana who had tried to decapitate him with a wooden stick the first time they had sparred, not the Ana who had growled every time he mentioned her former Master, not the young girl who had tended Wathearu's garden with him, not the Padawan that could make him forget Xanatos, if only for a short time. The Ana that had been cooing endearments to Bu-Taan was so harshly, glaringly unlike her that he ran through a list of possible drugs that could cause such a reaction to her. He closed his eyes and leaned back on his sleeping couch, rubbing his temples slowly with the pads of his calloused fingers.

"_I am not your Padawan! Master's understand their Padawans! You have no concept of me! Get away!" _

Hurt, anger, and another emotion, simmering just below the surface, threatening to boil over and crash over him in a scalding eruption …

_Jealousy_.

Jealousy laced her tones, edging the words she had spat so bitterly at him. She wanted something she could not have, wanted something that was forbidden. But what was it? He wondered. Many things were forbidden by the Code, and it was perfectly natural for a young girl to desire material possessions, but something as trivial as that would not have caused the explosion last night. She had been trying to get his attention, that much was clear, and she had succeeded very well. She had perhaps gotten more of his attention than she had bargained for.

His sigh was the only sound in the spacious rooms for several more minutes.

09

It was almost two o'clock in the morning when he felt the Force shudder. A rippling tapestry of conflicting emotions, multi-layered and incomprehensible, flowed towards him, and he knew it was Ana. Only Ana could hold that many bewildering feelings in her mind and not completely implode. The door beeped once as she punched in the key code, and then it hissed open. Her entryway sounds, so familiar to him, began, the small rustling noises as she stripped off her outer robes and kicked off her Padawan boots without unbuckling them. She padded silently down the hallway, her eyes downcast, passing in front of the doorway to the room where he was sitting. He caught a quick glimpse of her and saw that she was dripping wet, her black hair plastered sleekly to the back of her neck, her inner tunic sticking to her. She paused for the barest hint of a moment, wanting with every fiber of her being to stop and throw herself at Qui-Gon and apologize, but her rigidly cold center curtly told her that she was being sentimental.

"Ana."

Rich, deep, low, the gravelly rumble echoing in the lowest regions of his growling baritone. Oh, Force, his voice made her melt. How could a human person make her voice do pirouettes, cartwheels, and high jumps, make it sound so maddeningly seductive, when it was only three letters long? How could he turn a plain name into something so soft and silky, like a velvet ribbon being stroked across damp skin? She stopped dead on the other side of the doorway, closing her eyes, willing herself not to follow through with her ridiculous plan. A shiver ran down her spine when the dying embers of her name faded and there was stillness in the room once more. She wanted him to say her name again, wanted him to say her name all sorts of different ways. She wanted to see how her voice would sound when he was satisfied, pleased, proud, laughing, joyful, uncomfortable, embarrassed, and a million and one other ways she couldn't even think of. She went into the room and knelt by his feet, tucking her own feet underneath her knees. Her hands lay in her lap, toying with the hem of her tunic as she mentally tasted the words she was about to say.

"I apologize."

_Well, that's one way to say it,_ she said to herself with a mental eye-roll. She cleared her throat. "My behavior tonight was unacceptable. You were right; I acted in a manner unbefitting your Padawan." She made a movement as if to rise, and then he said it again.

"Ana."

Oh, how could he have so much control over her by just saying her _name_?

"Look at me."

She looked up hesitantly, dark green eyes flicking past the powerful, broad chest, the bearded chin, high cheekbones, regal profile, and finally locking with those tantalizingly dark, smoky blue-gray eyes. The exact color of a tempest tossed sea, foamy gray mixed with majestic royal blue, a unique color that suited him to perfection. He slid one finger under her chin and tilted it upwards a little more, letting the scant light from the holo-lamp catch the minute details of her forest green eyes, dark green with flecks of purest gold. For a minute they just stopped, frozen in each others eyes, wishing that the moment would never end and that there was no protocol, no Code, no barriers or laws. Nothing but each other. But reality ebbed slowly at the edges of Qui-Gon's consciousness, and when he had summoned up the stamina to pull away from her intoxicating eyes, he spoke, his voice very soft and deliberate. "Thank you. I accept your apology. Do not, under any circumstances, behave in that manner again."

Her eyes dropped, thoroughly chastised.

"Why did you behave the way you did?

"I was trying to make you jealous."

If she had suddenly announced that she was madly in love with an elderly bantha and that Qui-Gon was invited to the wedding, he could not have been more surprised. For an instant the shock showed in his face as the full realization flowed over him, like a pull of warm water.

_The attraction was mutual._

_No attachments._

_Mutual._

_Forbidden._

"Why?"

She groped for words like a hand in the darkness groping for light. Her mind fumbled fuzzily over various answers, then settled on the truth. "Because I do not see you as a Master. I never have, and I suppose I never will."

Once more their eyes met, stormy blue and forest green, rustically simple and beautifully complex.

"What do you see me as?"

Their tones dropped to hushed murmurs, unwilling to break the enchantment that had settled over the both of them like a warm blanket, keeping them safe from all harm and all reality. The fluffy dream they were living in was something that had been discovered since before Time and Space was created, the oldest, rawest, most powerful emotion ever to shake the foundations of the earth.

"I see you as a friend and a lover, and I suppose I always will."

"It is forbidden."

"I am past caring."

"You are looking for someone to replace Wathearu."

"You are nothing like my former Master." Soothingly complacent, calm, regarded. She had rehearsed this. He had been ambushed, his head was spinning. "I understand if my feelings are not reciprocated -" Finally, a crack in the calmness, peeling away to reveal the vulnerable Ana he had come to know. She lay bared beneath the layers of obsidian she had built up, and he saw how much energy and courage the admittance had taken out of her.

The clock on the table beeped, signaling the two o'clock hour. The spell shattered silently, and they both stood up. "We will speak of this in the morning."

Ana did not predict sleep that night in either quarters.

She was right.

09

_A/N: I am very, very, VERY sick right now. Like lying in bed throwing up water sick. So I typed up this chapter really quickly, and I'm pretty sure there's more than a few typos. Enjoy, and, oh yeah…_

*waves hand*

_REVIEW, they make my day! And I'll get better faster if you make my day, which equals more updates! See, it's a win-win!_


	16. Chapter 16: Revolt!

He hardly slept.

The sleeping couch was suddenly very lumpy, and the sheets too coarse, despite the silkiness of the texture and the lushness of the pillows. But it was suddenly very large and empty, very cold and impersonal, lacking in warmth and heat. He knew what his body desired, knew what it wanted at this moment. He wanted to be lying next to Ana, next to the cool-blooded, green-eyed woman who had battled hard with her grief and almost overcome it. He wanted to feel the velvet of her skin, run his fingers through her dark curls, skim her hidden valleys with his fingertips and explore the contours of her body. He ached with wanting. At first, he tried to dispel his feelings into the Force, to relax his mind and body so he could sleep. Surely, he would think more clearly in the morning. But just when he would drift off into a gentle layer of sleep, the scent of rainwater and damp greenery, two scents he always associated with Ana, would fill his body. He would jerk awake, and every fiber of his being would want to throw off the blankets and go to Ana's slumbering form. But he resisted, finding the calm sanctum that every Jedi Master obtains and controls.

There was one moment where he knew he had been asleep - how could he have woken up if he had not been asleep? And he sat upright in bed. The Force had rippled slowly, alerting him to a presence down the hallway. Someone was approaching their room. It could be nothing, merely an inquisitive servant dispatched to wake them up, but instinct told him it was not so. His keen ears pricked up when he heard the footsteps hurrying over the plush carpets; the cadence was too quick and uneven to be merely a servant sent to awaken two Jedis. He swung himself out of bed and his calloused fingers closed around his lightsaber, tensing his muscles as he waited. His thumb was on the activation trigger, waiting to see if a hostile was approaching. The hiss of a door opening alerted him to Ana's presence, and he could not resist turning slightly to enter her in his line of vision. She was beautiful when she just awoke, with her spiky cowlick sticking in all directions, green eyes sleepy and half-closed, lips pouting in a childish look of desire for more sleep. But today her face was bright and alert, and he suspected she had not slept much that night either. And her lightsaber was in her hand, carefully waiting until something moved.

Suddenly there was a hammering on the doorway, a loud rapping noise that startled both Master and Padawan. They sprang into action, lightsabers humming to life as they prowled before the doorway. Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Come in." he commanded. His voice sent rivers of warmth down Ana's back, pooling heatedly in her legs and thighs. She shook her head slightly to clear it of any disrupting thoughts of Qui-Gon, and waited for the door to open. It could be anyone. It could be an assassin waiting to kill them. It could be a man with a poisoned drink in his hand. It could be…

Senator Bulgrasse.

He did not seem surprised that both Qui-Gon and Ana had their lightsabers drawn and identical looks of fierce concentration on their faces. Evidently, he had dealt with trigger-happy Jedis before. Instead, he marched into the room and threw himself down on Qui-Gon's unmade sleeping couch, settling himself down in the piles of pillows. "Bu-Taan is a damned fool," he announced angrily, his drawl thickening as he swigged from his hip flask. "He won't sign the damned treaty." Then he looked around, seeing the exasperated looks on Ana and Qui-Gon's faces. "What were ya'll expectin'? An army come tah kill you?"

"You startled us," Qui-Gon admitted, and sat down on the edge of his sleeping couch. Ana flicked off her lightsaber and clipped it onto her belt where it hung heavily on her hip like an old friend. She remained standing, but leaned up against the wall and folded her arms. It was ridiculously early, and she was _not_ a morning person. She blinked hard and tried to impale the porky Senator with her own laser-stare-of-death, the one that Qui-Gon had perfected. Instead, she managed to make herself look tired and constipated all at once.

"Well, y'all are about to be more startled," Bulgrasse grumped, "'Cos that damned - pardon my language, missy - monarch ain't gonna sign nothin'. Even had the gall to throw me outta his room! The nerve!"

"Some people don't like being woken up at -" Ana checked the sun outside, which was barely peeking over the horizon and hadn't even risen over the majestic spires of downtown Iridonia yet, "- Six o'clock in the morning. It isn't unusual for people to sleep in, you know."

"Can't imagine why," Bulgrasse complained. "Everyone needs to get up 'n' start their day! Right, Qui-Gon?" he asked, elbowing the older Jedi with perhaps a shade too much force. The muscular Jedi shot the pudgy Senator a look of ultimate doom, and he wilted. "But mebbe you have a point, missy."

Ana yawned and stretched, catlike, against the wall, popping every ligament in her back and shoulders, then sighed. Qui-Gon did everything he could to restrain a low growl of appreciation. "Now that we're up, we might as well get something to eat," she said, then looked hopefully at Bulgrasse. "Have you already eaten?" she asked politely, praying he said yes. If he said no, it was practically a given that he would accompany them to breakfast, and she wanted to talk to Qui-Gon alone. They needed to continue the conversation they had been having last night. She had been replaying the entire scenario in her head all night, and she wanted to get a jumpstart on the day. Unfortunately, for her, Bulgrasse had other ideas.

"Hell no, missy, and it sounds like a mighty fine idea to go get some grub! Qui-Gon, are you joining me and this lovely lady for breakfast?" Bulgrasse asked, getting to his feet. Qui-Gon tried hard not to roll his eyes. The way Bulgrasse talked, it was as thought Qui-Gon was the stranger, not Bulgrasse. Ana seemed just as disappointed, but to her credit, she was trying to mask it well. They trooped out of the room and down the hallway, Bulgrasse talking animatedly about tax infringement and the skyrocketing prices of idonite, never slowing once. Qui-Gon, who had some experience in dealing with the loudmouthed Senator, put up a polite show of nodding and agreeing, giving every appearance that he was listening when in fact he was using every atom of his being not to appreciate the feminine sway of Ana's hips.

Bulgrasse was so busy talking, and Ana and Qui-Gon were so busy pretending to listen, that they didn't hear the telltale sounds of blaster fire until it was almost too late.

09

The main hall was a bloodbath. Ana and Qui-Gon had their lightsabers out and ready for action before anyone could blink, and Qui-Gon found himself deflecting blaster fire almost before his lightsaber was fully activated. The once-extravagant interior of the main hall had been completely torched, the rich tapestries still burning, the deep pile carpets covered with blood and filth. The bodies of guards and a few innocent magistrates were thrown here and there, some of them still bleeding slowly as the life faded from their eyes. Ana couldn't even tell where the blaster fire was coming from before she was striking angrily at the laser beams. Her dark green eyes slitted, catlike, as she tumbled a cartwheel across the room, flattening herself against the opposite wall. As she had performed his rather unnecessary maneuver, she had noticed who had been firing, her Jedi reflexes picking up details most others would overlook.

The five men and two women who had been firing were standing in a loose circle at the doorway, all of them bearing identical tattoos that spoke of their slavery. Illegal shockrifles were in their hands; the weapons had been outlawed years ago, mostly because the laser bullets didn't kill you; they ate fiercely through skin and living tissue and then festered there, like a hard nugget, until they were painfully extracted. They had been outlawed because of their usage; the Senate didn't want weapons that were designed for torture in the hands of Hutts. Qui-Gon met Ana's eyes, and they nodded once, briefly. "Stay here!" Qui-Gon snarled at Bulgrasse, who was cowering behind a pillar with his hands over his cowboy hat. The Jedi Knight and his Padawan leapt out from behind their cover, parrying the shockrifles harsh blows with their lightsabers.

It because plain in a matter of seconds that the slaves were relatively untrained, and had managed to kill so many merely because of the powerful element of surprise. After a moment or two, the tallest slave threw down his shockrifle. "All right, all right!" he whined. "Enough! Stop, please!"

Qui-Gon shifted his weight slightly, moving out of his aggressive stance, but his lightsaber didn't click off. Peacefulness didn't mean stupidity. "Drop your weapons," he growled, and once more a random thrill of excitement shivered down Ana's spine when he used that commanding tone. "Kick the rifles over to me."

The slaves obeyed immediately, sliding the blasters across the polished marble floors until they were safely out of reach. Only then did Qui-Gon click off his lightsaber and clip it back onto his belt. Ana glanced mistrustfully at the slaves, three of whom were beginning to cry, and then buzzed down her saber. She followed Qui-Gon across the room, where he passed his hand in front of the slaves. "Sit down," he said firmly. Dazedly, the tiny band of rebels obeyed, sitting against the wall. "Do not make a sound or a move." he ordered, and then gave a brief jerk of his chin to Ana. Ana hurried across the room and began checking the vitals of the scattered bodies, counting wounds and trying to see who was in the more pain. It didn't take long for Ana to ascertain that most of the guards were dead, but there was one young magistrate who was groaning and grasping weakly at his chest. Her hand hovered over his torso, reaching out to stroke the Force gently. The man's eyes rolled up in the back of his head as his body shut down for healing and recuperation.

Ana got to her feet and went over to Qui-Gon. "Master, he needs medical assistance," she whispered urgently. "Should I retrieve the king?" Qui-Gon's stormy blue-gray eyes narrowed.

"Yes. Run." he said sharply, and Ana took off at a dead run down the corridor.

09

Ana slid and slipped on the slippery marble floors of the palace, relying fully on the Force to tell her where to do. A mental tug led her through the maze of hallways, passageways, corridors, and paths that lined the intricate palace of Iridonia. Several slaves passed by her, all of them shooting her dirty looks, and Ana snarled orders to them, not caring if they were obeyed. Someone was in trouble, and she was glad of the distraction. She took the high stairs two at a time, bolting up the landings and striking her knee sharply against the banister accidentally. She hissed in pain, doubling over, trying hard to release her pain into the Force, but there was simply no time. Ana bolted up the steps, ignoring the dull throb of pain that shook her knee with every step.

The gigantic golden doors that led to Bu-Taan's office sprang before her, and she slammed them open with the heels of her hands. Before her, lounging regally on thick velvet cushions, sat Bu-Taan, his darkly muscled body standing out in harsh contrast to the soft luxury around him. His ice tiger paced restlessly, the silvery blue striped rippling in the bright glow of the lanterns. Bu-Taan took one look at Ana's disheveled face and panting, and smiled widely. "La'Ana," he purred. "How wonderful of you to join us."

Ana glanced around feverishly and saw two cloaked figures standing near the door. She cursed herself for her stupidity. "Your Majesty!" she gasped. "Your slaves, they're -"

"Revolting, I know," Bu-Taan said idly. "Massing? Arming themselves with illegal weaponry? Oh, how terrible!" A high, sharp burst of mocking laugher rang around the room. "And I suppose you have come to warn me of them? How very sweet of you, La'Ana."

A harsh metallic taste, bitter and thick, rose in Ana's mouth. "I don't understand," she said slowly. Bu-Taan laughed cruelly again.

"Really? Then let me make it quite simple. I ordered my slaves to revolt. Yes, I armed them. I gave them weapons that are used to maim and kill and injure. Don't you see? It's brilliant, really." He checked his dark nails, chocolate brown eyes narrowing with catty pleasure. "My slaves revolt, and suddenly my world is tossed into upheaval. And I, King Bu-Taan, shall be the savior. And also, I shall eradicate all of my slaves, so there will be no need for me to sign that damned treaty."

Ana's fingers pounced for her lightsaber, flicking it on. Bu-Taan clapped his hands, dark eyes flashing. "Come now, La'Ana, don't be foolish. I would hate to make your death … unpleasant." Ana took a menacing step forward. Bu-Taan sighed theatrically. "Such a shame. You were rather fetching, if in a plain way." He smiled nastily.

Then his fingers unlatched the chain that was restricting his ice tiger, and all hell broke loose.

09

_A/N: I am SO SORRY for not posting this sooner, but I was down with pneumonia for quite a while. I'm still coughing, but I don't feel like I'm going to die anymore. :D So I managed to whip this out very quickly. I'm not sure how it came out, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! _

_*Waves hand* _

_You WILL review, and you WILL give me concrit to keep me on track!_


	17. Chapter 17: An Unwelcome Friend

_Focus_.

Ana opened her eyes and eyed her foe who was prowling in front of her. The tiger hadn't struck yet, but it's muzzle was rippling, exposing dripping yellow fangs. A deep rumble built in the beast's chest as the muscles tensed, powerful hind legs taut as it prepared to spring. The blue-white coat shone glossily in the light as the monster threw itself forward with a brutish roar. Ana had already slipped off her outer cloak and prepared herself for battle. A single bead of sweat pearled at her temple, and she jumped into action. The tiger landed next to her with enough force to liquidize anything underneath it, and the beast sank low to the floor, belly scraping the flagstones. Ana backed up. She was disobeying the first rule of lightsaber training; keep your opponent on the defensive. She was allowing herself to be thrown into a corner. But her mind was running in circles, screaming at her to get to Qui-Gon. How could she move when the huge monster in front of her was pacing the ground, shoulder muscles flexing as it stalked its newfound prey? Ana submerged herself in the Force, trying to find her center. The Force was there, she could feel it, like a ghostly caress from a long lost zephyr of breeze. But it danced from her fingertips. She remembered Wathearu's advice. _The Force is always there. It is you who will not use it_.

The tiger growled, a deep, satisfied purr that built in its chest. The golden eyes were lazy with near-indifference; it expected an easy meal. It was not the remarkable tawny eyes that distracted her; it was the purr that threw her totally off guard. A deep base growl, so similar to Qui-Gon. As soon as her mind alighted upon her Master, she sprang into action. Her lightsaber carved through the air, aiming right for the base of the tiger's neck. The beast, faster than she had expected, swooped low and leapt forward, gigantic paws with gleaming white claws aiming straight for her face. She screamed aloud to the Force, then - and the Force, with an unexpected rush, flowed into her with a crash like a tsunami. She ducked into a crouch, rolling between the legs of the tiger, and struck outwards against its flanks with her lightsaber. She was savagely pleased to hear the shriek of pain from the tiger, and the hiss of electricity burning through fur and flesh. A long black stripe marred the silky coat, and all the calm composure vanished from the tiger. It sank into a crouch, once more prowling around her, but this time its movements were quicker. More guarded. Ana kept her eyes trained on the tawny orbs, never once breaking concentration. The Force was surging through her, calming her nerves and battle endorphins, making her wildly alert to every subtle movement and pulling insignificant details into clear focus. The tiger pounced again, a snarl rippling its muzzle, and this time Ana brought her lightsaber down hard on its neck. There was one strangled whimper from the massive creature, and then it lay still. Ana stood trembling in the center of the room, a cold sweat dewing her brow. The tiger had been entertainment for Bu-Taan. Now he would get to the main course.

Bu-Taan moved forward, annoyed. Ana had gotten the better of his pet. The loss of his steel-jawed beast was not what irked him; the fact that he would have to kill her in cold blood chafed him far more. Before Ana had slaughtered his brute, he could have claimed an accident. But now that his killer was dead, he could not feign innocence. With a regretful sigh, he brought his hands together in a sharp handclap. "Enough." He snapped. "Guards, finish her." He turned away, bored and indifferent.

Blaster fire came suddenly at Ana, who whirled around and deflected the bolts faster than blinking. She advanced, step by step, up the room, while the two hooded guards continued to spray her with blaster fire. These were not shockrifles; these were regular blaster designed to kill, efficiently and quickly. The one small hope she had was that her death would be fast. She jumped in the air, her fast leap and the Force propelling her high into the air. She cartwheeled as the fire suddenly intensified, and landed on the opposite side of the guards. They turned with unerring speed, but Ana kicked out at one and her boot landed squarely on his chest. The guard was buffeted backwards, skidding on the polished floors, his hood falling around his shoulders. He was young, blonde, with an angry look on his face as he tried in vain to catch his lost breath. Ana brought her lightsaber across the neck of the other, checking it just in time. Everything froze. The only sound was Ana's lightsaber humming gently, like a contented cat. Ana felt sweat rolling down her back. "Take your hood off." She spat. "Now."

Slowly, the other guard removed his hood. He was younger, with curly brown hair and striking black eyes. Those black eyes glittered smugly as he surveyed Ana. His face was tanned and handsome, unbroken save for a contemptuous sneer. "You have not won, Jedi," he said scornfully. "You have only triggered the war. Now everyone will know how the Jedi came here and slew two innocent guards. Do you really want that to happen, Jedi?"

Ana felt the Force quelling her submerging temper, soothing it like a cooling bacta balm. "I have not slain anyone except a merciless tiger, and only then in self-defense. If your people wish to know about that, then you may inform them. I have no intention of killing anyone." She paused. "That is, unless you move." She grinned wolfishly, baring gleaming white teeth in a vicious grimace. "We Jedi can be very unpredictable sometimes."

"Enough!" Bu-Taan said, getting up with the easy, slow grace that had once fascinated Ana. He had a broad smile on his face. "Well done, Ana. You have passed the test." He waited for Ana to take her eyes off the black-haired guard. When she did not, he continued. "I was waiting for you, to see if you were worthy of this proposition. Now I see that you are."

Finally, her eyes left the black haired guard. "Not another word, Bu-Taan!" she shouted green eyes slitted with fury. "Not another poisonous word. I do not want to hear your 'proposition', nor do I want you to do anything but sit over there and stay silent. You are still alive in a very deadly situation." Her teeth were once more exposed in a snarl. "That is a situation that can be easily remedied."

"Ah, La'Ana, you will want to hear my proposition," Bu-Taan said, striding over to the door. Ana's eyes never left the young guard, but her hand shot up with shocking speed. Her wrist flicked, and the doors slammed shut with a muffled thud, narrowly missing Bu-Taan's fingers. Bu-Taan looked up, mock pleading in his voice. "Now, La'Ana, is that any way to treat your hostages?" His voice was taunting.

"You haven't thought this out very well, have you?" Ana bit her lower lip. In truth, she hadn't thought it through; they were at a stalemate. If she abandoned the guards and Bu-Taan, they would most likely wreak more havoc on Iridonia. But if she didn't get back down to the parlor with all speed, the youth down there could die. She licked her lips nervously. She tried hard to remember what Yoda had said about hostage situations. Actually it hadn't been covered all that well. No one, the council reasoned, could be stupid enough to hold people hostage. That was not the way of the Force. Unbidden, another one of Wathearu's phrases bubbled in her mind: _The Force does not make exceptions. _Angrily, Ana shoved the words away.

Bu-Taan had seized her hesitation - nothing more than a slight flicker in her eyes - and clapped his hands twice. The blonde guard, who had been still reclining on the floor, snapped to his feet and opened the side door. Ana gave a shout to halt him, but the door had already swung open. She summoned the Force to throw it shut, but then she saw something that made her stop cold.

A young man entered, his long hair very black, almost blue. His eyes were a clear, sharp azure that pierced her merrily. A laughing little smile was lifting the corners of his lips, and he strode across the floor with a thump of his heels. His cloak was very thick, almost touching the ground, and trimmed with a navy blue that changed colors in the light. He bowed magnificently to Ana, extending a welcoming hand. As he approached her, Ana felt her hackles rise. The young man had a scar on his cheek - almost a perfect circle, but not quite. One side was broken. A lightsaber hung from his hip as he greeted her warmly. Ana felt a cold trickle of fear run down her spine like forgotten rainwater.

She was facing Qui-Gon's old Padawan.

09

Qui-Gon did not pace when he was anxious. But his muscles ached to do something. An uneasy quiet had settled over the whole room, and it had taken every shred of Jedi training not to bolt from the room when he heard Ana's shriek. But, he later mused, it was not a scream of pain, but of frustration. He felt her Force signature ebbing like the tide, sometimes swelling to a gigantic crescendo, other times hardly more than a gentle lapping. The rebels were watching him silently, eyes following him across the room. He could feel their bitterness like the souring of a food; their anger was growing like a mold. Soon it would overcome them, and they would reason they could take on a single Jedi. They would be sadly mistaken, of course, but Qui-Gon did not wish to harm innocent people. Well, mostly innocent. He flicked a steady glance at Bulgrasse, who was smoking nervously. His fingers were trembling as he raised the pipe to his mouth. As a senator, he had some experience in hostile situations, but almost losing ones life is enough to set anyone on edge. He checked his moonometer. "Where the hell is she?" he asked, voicing Qui-Gon's own feelings.

"She will come," Qui-Gon said, putting every ounce of certainty in his voice. Privately, he worried. What had happened to Ana? He knew that Bu-Taan was untrustworthy. Mentally, he cursed himself. He should have gone, and left Ana here to deal with the captives. He stood firmly in the center of the room, closing his eyes. He reached out to stroke the multicolored tapestry around him, feeling the Force pulse under his inquisitive mind. He did not sleep, but submerged himself in a deeper level of consciousness. Dream State, the young Padawans called it. His body was still alert and awake, but his mind was slowly becoming closer to the Force. He tightened his jaw as he felt for Ana's consciousness. She was frightened, that was the predominant emotion; but she was relying on the Force, which was good. But there was a nagging curiosity at the back of her mind, something that was keeping her there. He felt his jaw lock. His eyes snapped open at the sound of someone shifting their weight, and he spun around, lightsaber already unclipped from his belt and humming contentedly in his hands.

There, in the doorway, stood Xanantos with Ana by the arm.

_A/N: Originally, I wasn't going to touch upon Xanantos at all. But I just re-read all of _The Jedi Apprentice_ series and I just had to stick him in somewhere. He's awesome, in a really sick way. Sorry it took me so long to update; life goes on, and my power was out for a good ten days. Anyway, enjoy!_

_*waves hand*_

_You _will_ review._


	18. Chapter 18: Seeing Red

Blood was dripping steadily onto the polished marble floors, spattering the smooth surface. From directly in front of her, Qui-Gon couldn't see where Ana was injured, but her face was ashen. Her green eyes were half closed, and the only evidence of her forest green eyes were colored slits. Her dark hair stood in sweat slicked spikes, Padawan braid hanging over her shoulder as she struggled to keep herself upright. Her lightsaber was noticeably missing from her hip, and Qui-Gon's eyes seized the minute rip on her shoulder. Xanantos's hand was clenched around her elbow hard enough to twist the skin and make her wince in pain, but his tone was courteous, cheerful, and light. He dragged her closer to Qui-Gon, who was standing deathly still, lightsaber still humming in the air. "Old friend!" Xanantos cried, hauling Ana roughly upright. Ana panted, her breath coming in shallow, sharp gasps. More blood spattered on the floor. "What a pleasant surprise! Imagine my delight when I discover that this naive little Padawan is yours! Fate has a strange way of circling itself, doesn't it?"

"Release her." The undercurrent of a growl, simmering rage, the buildup of a snarl. Ana had never heard him use that tone. In some ways, it was very comforting to hear his voice. "Your hurt is with me, not with her. Release her." Xanantos laughed, a cold, sharp laugh.

"Very touching. You trained her well, you know," Xanantos mused, ignoring the blood which was pooling at Ana's feet. "The little hellion put up quite a fight. But she let her emotion get the better of her ... another trick she learned from you, I'm sure." He smiled, exposing glittering white teeth. "She was no match for me, I'm afraid." He let her go, finally, and Ana's knees buckled. Her eyes closed as she collapsed, sides heaving with this small exhertion. "But you're right, old friend. My quarrel is with you, not with her." He unclipped his lightsaber, the red beam bursting into life as he continued smiling. "But I'm sure she will serve her uses after you are dead. She is, after all, a pretty little thing."

_Crimson._

Qui-Gon attacked, closing the distance between them with a single bound. Their lightsabers met in a flourish of dancing sparks, the energy shuddering up the blades as they struck again. Xanantos's black eyes went wide as he realized the fury and raw rage of his former's Master's attack. Xanatos pressed hard but lost as step under the crushing blows of Qui-Gon's lightsaber. The Force hummed around him, dark and thick as new syrup, and Qui-Gon used every particle of it. Xanantos drew back, retreating a step or two to recover himself. He drew in a long breath, eyes suddenly alight with knowledge as he regarded his master. "I _see_," Xanantos breathed. Then he laughed, roaring with laughter as he gasped for breath. "I don't believe it! My old stoic master, determined to never show me love, has fallen for a pathetic young girl!" Xanatos snarled at him. "You never showed me anything but disdain, and this, this, _child_ manages to win your favor?"

"I loved you," Qui-Gon said fiercely. "You were like my own son. But you were never strong enough. You allowed yourself to be swayed."

"Not strong enough?" Xanantos shrieked. "Not strong enough? No, _Master -" _Jeering, sneering, harsh, bitter, cold. "I am strong enough! More than enough, as you will see." He struck again, the Force surging around the two of them.

Ana felt the Force ebbing away like the flow of the tide. The more she tried to grasp it, the more it disappeared, like sand in her fist. She felt blood - _her blood_ _-_ drying on her cheek as she closed her eyes. The wound, located just above her left hip, was throbbing dully, waves of pain surfacing and sending her reeling into darkness for brief moments. Everything ached. One forest green eye, the color of silvered fir trees, opened slightly. She wanted to imprint every memory in her brain before she succumbed to the darkness leeching the corners of her vision. Above her, a battle raged, the sparks and energy from their lightsabers shuddering through the air. The wall in front of her was covered with several slaves, all terrified and confused. Their shockrifles lay in a neat pile in the furthest corner of the room. Both eyes opened, blinked slowly. Shockrifles. Not designed to kill. She closed her eyes and drew in the last reserves of her strength. The Force boiled around her, helping her drag herself painfully to her knees, smearing a trail of blood along the floors as she stood upright, grasping at the slick wall for support. The pain intensified, but she released it into the Force with limited success. Now was not the time to succumb to pain. Qui-Gon, her master, needed her. She took a halting step forward, not daring to put any weight on her left leg as knife-like bursts of pain shot up her back. She needed to focus.

_Scarlet._

One step at a time. That's all she could manage. One foot in front of the other, slowly crossing the room while Xanantos and Qui-Gon dueled cruelly, blows raining down on them and burning their flesh. She hauled herself across the room, leaving a trail of blood. The Force was helping her focus, helping to banish the black roses blooming in her vision, but it was not alleviating her pain. The pain was her own. She must conquer it. With agonizing slowness, she fell to her knees by the shockrifles, bleary eyes rifling through them as she seized the nearest one. Her fingers felt numb as she groped for the trigger. The purple bullets glowed in the transparent barrel, and she finally found the trigger located on the back of the handle. She aimed carefully, and pulled the trigger.

A single purple orb, crackling with electricity, sped towards the writhing opponents faster than blinking. It struck Xanantos squarely in the lower back, embedding a hard silver nugget in his side. He shouted in pain and rage and surprise, turning and thrusting a fist towards her. Ana was picked up like a doll, the Force gripping her harshly, and slammed against the wall with a sickening crack.

_Black_.

Xanantos had exposed his back for a split second. It was all Qui-Gon needed to strike out at him hard, catching him solidly across the upper back. He howled, turning with unnatural speed, parrying Qui-Gon's next blow, rage and pain in his striking chilly eyes as he dueled viciously with his former master. Their lightsabers tangled, shockwaves shuddering up the hilts as they sparred. Qui-Gon felt the Force speed him, ripple over him like the wash of a warm wave, and he backflipped over his former Padawan, slicing down at him swiftly. But he was simply not there.

Xanantos checked his chrono on his wrist, and the grinned. "It's too late, old man!" he sneered. "I'll leave you to play with these new toys I sent you."

He bolted towards the doors, the Force speeding him on his way. As the doors slammed behind him, Qui-Gon saw plumes of white smoke beginning to cloud the air in front of the vents. He sipped air for a moment, tasting the metallic tang in the air, and then held his breath. He could hold his breath, but his young Padawan was completely unconscious.

The gas would kill her.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for the short chapter. Is anybody reading this? I'm sorry, it just feels like I'm talking to a __void sometimes. Anyway, here's another chapter, dear void._


	19. Chapter 19: Captivity

Her consciousness was seperate from her body, like a balloon hovering above her head. The pain had vanished, and it was a welcome relief. Now there was just this bizarre floating feeling, as though she were suspended in midair. Far below her, as if from the bottom of a well, she felt her body being tugged slowly over the marble floors. A sweet, sharp odor, sickeningly sweet and cloyingly thick, was flooding her systems. The more she breathed, the higher she rose. She wondered what would happen when she rose to the very top. The floating feeling lessened slightly, and she felt a pair of powerful arms slide underneath her numb body. She tingled where the person touched her, as if his hands were covered with tiny needles. The thick sweet smell stopped quickly, and a cleaner scent filled her head. The floating feeling didn't abate, and she coughed once as fresh air cocooned her body. A warm, bitter liquid was slipped between her teeth, and the floating feeling stopped abruptly. She came crashing back into her consciousness, bringing with it the massive pain that was sending ripples from her hip. She cried out weakly, half of the slimy, bitter concoction coming back up, but she didn't care. The pain was enormous. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

More warm liquid flowed down her throat, and this time it went down a little easier. The fluid was sticky, and it coated her tongue, the nasty taste lingering. She moaned, shifting her weight away from her injured hip. Both of her eyes shot open as another cupful of liquid was shoved down her throat. She gagged, forcing the fluid out of her mouth and spitting it away from her. Ana took a ragged gasp, drinking in droughts of clean, pure air as she swiped a hand across her mouth. Panting, she examined her surroundings. The first thing she saw was a slight figure cradling her head, pale, pretty features framed by a hanging curtain of golden hair. Large blue eyes, framed with thick blonde lashes, blinked slowly at her, examining her curiously. Ana tried to drag herself upright into a sitting position, but the pain was too much. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from shouting again. Gradually, she made herself relax. Reaching out to the Force, she allowed the Force to ebb at her pain, to soothe the monstrous feeling that was consuming her body. Slowly, with excruciating length, the Force took the edge off her pain. Her fuzzy brain stumbled over questions, and finally she managed to gasp out four words that meant more to her than anything else in the world.

"Qui-Gon," Ana rasped. "I need...Qui-Gon."

The beautiful blonde woman merely simpered prettily and dabbed a damp rag across her forehead. Ana's body was coated with an icy sweat that was rattling her teeth and seeping into her bones. The blonde went on as though she hadn't heard her, and Ana tried again. But when she opened her mouth to ask for her Master, the blonde tipped a ladleful of hot, steaming soup into her mouth. The heat scalded her throat and burned a red stripe across her mouth, and Ana swallowed with difficulty. It was thin and too sweet to be a soup, rather watery, and contained a few rubbery chunks of meat. She coughed again, pushing away the bowl. "Qui-Gon," she said hoarsely. "Qui-Gon...Jinn."

She let Ana's head fall back, smoothing her skirt as she rose. Ana watched her through bleary eyes - why was her vision suddenly slipping out of focus?. Everything was going fuzzy, and with a rising panic Ana realized she could no longer sense the Force around her. What had happened? Was her pain so out of control that she couldn't feel the Force? But the pain had stayed at a modest level, still sending sparks whenever she moved, but if she was absolutely still there was no pain. The soup. She paled. Something had been in the soup.

The blonde rapped twice on the door, and it hissed open promptly. A dark figure stepped in, long black hair touching his shoulders and sweeping across his face. Icy blue eyes, frosty as an ice cap and sinister as a cobra, glanced indifferently at the blonde. A smirk - no, a sneer - curved his lips, and he kissed her roughly, tipping her chin back with a single finger. The blonde cooed happily, lashes fluttering as the handsome young man broke away from her. "Leave us," he said disdainfully, as if he had merely inquired about the weather instead of locking himself in a passionate embrace. She nodded demurely, the door closing instantly behind her.

He surveyed Ana, noted her hair cording against her temples, matted by sweat. Her tunic was stained and dirty, and her leggings were ripped to the knee. A fresh wound encircled her hip, a deep burn that had seared her flesh to the bone. His thin lips twitched in a smile as he gazed fondly at his handiwork. "Quite a nasty scar, Ana," he drawled lightly. "I did a good job, if I say so myself."

"Monster." Ana panted. She squinted, trying to focus on her anger, indignation, rage. But every emotion was slipping away from her as easily as a cube of butter. She struggled to reach for the Force. Why couldn't she operate? "Where is...Qui-Gon?"

"How touching," Xanantos purred. "Your first thoughts turn to your Master. Rest assured, he is quite safe...for now. But when he comes to fetch you I don't think he'll be in such perfect health." He crouched down by her level, meeting her gaze. Her green eyes were blinking constantly, and they were rapidly becoming dull and unfocused. The seething anger that had been boiling in her eyes only hours before had been replaced by thick complacency. He stroked her round cheek with one finger, running the tip of it along her jaw line, feathering across her plump lips.

She moved faster that he had been expecting, striking with the savageness of a young panther. Her teeth buried themselves in his finger, sinking to the bone in a split second. Pain coursed up his arm and he roared with anger, striking her squarely on the jaw. She released him, the bitter tang of blood pooling in her mouth. The film was dimming her eyes, making everything go gray and cloudy. Xanantos's handsome face had been contorted into an inhuman mask of savagery. "I'm going to kill you, little Padawan," he hissed. "And I'm going to make your precious Master watch!"

-0

The blonde woman crossed her legs and arranged her hair, rumpling it slightly. She wanted to look very available for her master before he came out of the interview. Suddenly there was a shriek of rage, and she leapt for the handle - then stopped. Under no circumstances was she allowed to break up an interview. She had been punished for that the last time. She hesitated, dithering by the doorway. She didn't have to wait long - it shot open and he stormed out, wrapping his finger in the hem of his cloak. "Xanantos?" she cried, following him down the narrow hallway. "What's wrong?" she asked. Xanantos banged open one of the swinging doors in his massive ship, flicking on a faucet. He plunged his finger underneath the stream of water, cooling the fevered digit. Concentrating, he absorbed his pain and relaxed. There was nothing to worry about. Everything was going according to plan.

She tugged on his sleeve. "Xanantos? What's going on?"

He struck her, backhanded her across her cheek. She whimpered, clutching her reddened face, tattooed with an imprint of Xanantos's signet ring. Tears welled in her beautiful blue eyes. "Don't touch me!" he growled. "Never touch me!" He stood over her cowering figure ominously. "Double her dose. I want her out for the rest of the journey. By any luck, my former Master will arrive to pick up his precious bundle by tonight."

-0

Qui-Gon tapped his fingers on the dashboard of the Imperial Convoy. Bulgrasse had issued him the best ship Iridonia had, and Qui-Gon had taken it with no qualms. The redneck Senator was staying on Iridonia to straighten everything out, and to elect a leader in place of Bu-Taan. Qui-Gon had no doubts that Bulgrasse would choose wisely; under normal circumstances, he would have remained by Bulgrasse's side and helped establish a just ruler, but things had changed. When he discovered Ana missing and saw Bu-Taan's luxury cruise ship gone, he had put two and two together. A young assistant from Bu-Taan's slave hold had also gone missing, but Qui-Gon didn't think much of it. The overwhelming importance was to find Ana before it was too late.

It turned out to be very easy to find Ana. The luxury cruise ship had left an impressive wake, or at least that's what the captain had said. With his expert controlling and space-seasoned eyes, he had been able to easily distinguish the tracks of a fast-moving cruise ship. He had spouted some scientific nonsense to Qui-Gon, and was still babbling at his elbow. With great effort, Qui-Gon turned to him. " - and the arrangement of the asteroids suggests that there was a big ship passing through here recently," the blonde captain said. "Probably burning some cheap, low-grade oil."

This part didn't make sense to Qui-Gon. "How difficult is it to track low grade oil?" he asked, unease pricking the back of his neck. The captain shrugged.

"Actually, it's really easy to spot. See those purple streaks?" he asked, pointing. Qui-Gon could barely distinguish the shifting purple stripes between the swirling abyss of space, but he was able to manage it.

"Those are emission tracks. These are really vibrant and obvious, so they have to be burning low-grade oil and going pretty fast. Also, they've probably passed by here recently."

The uneasy feeling grew. There was only one reason Xanantos was painting such a wide, blatant trail through space. He knew that Qui-Gon would follow, knew that he would hasten with all possible speed to rescue his Padawan. So if he were trying to make a clean getaway, why would he mark such a lurid color throughout space?

He was leading him into a trap.

_A/N: Please review. Please, please, PLEASE! I have no idea how this chapter turned out…Anyway, review!_


	20. Chapter 20: Breaking Afresh

Dust swayed and scattered before the buffering landing gears, the gritty sand swirling in whirlwinds as the sleek ship slowly came to a halt. Before them, the massive gray cruise ship stood silently, contrasting cuttingly against the rough hewn brown landscape around them. The tiny planet they had landed on was nothing but a flat brown disc of nothingness in every direction, the pale blue sky shot through with streaks of yellow and green, an unnatural shading that suggested chemical overuse had stripped this planet of everything. There was no movement from the larger ship, and Qui-Gon stood tensely in the cockpit, his blue eyes focused and cold. The young captain beside him raised a blonde eyebrow. "We could fire the plane, sir," He suggested. "That's a cruise ship, and this is a fighter craft. Our guns will be larger and faster than theirs, if they have any at all." The captain said, looking at the stoic Jedi standing next to him. Marcus, the captain, had never seen a Jedi before, and this one was a particularly impressive specimen. Tall, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, with a proud, straight profile and smoky blue eyes. The weight of his lightsaber tugged down his belt, and Marcus saw that the Jedi had his hand resting on the hilt of the strange, old-fashioned weapon. Then, he finally seemed to jerk himself out of his reverie and shook his head once, barely perceptibly.

"Not until I release my Padawan," He said firmly. "When she is safely within our grasp, blow the ship. But not until then."

He turned on his heel and smacked the green button which opened the hatchway, striding out into the hot, burning sun and the cackling dust devils.

Xanatos watched his former Master carefully, a smile twitching his lips. His back ached where Qui-Gon had branded him with the flat of his lightsaber, and his hand throbbed where La'Ana had bitten him savagely, but these pains he swatted away with the Force. Now, came the final showdown between himself and his Master. He would show him just how much he hated him, show him just how much his self-righteous ideals were useless in day-to-day situations. He clicked his fingers at the cowering blonde woman in the corner, who was nursing a black eye. She stiffened to attention and drew tentatively closer to him, fearing another backlash. He turned to her, those merciless blue eyes sneering and cold. "Go bring out the prisoner," He said softly. "Make sure she's conscious, but still drugged. I want my old friend to see those pretty green eyes of hers when she dies."

The woman threaded her way through the maze of corridors and hallways until she found the black, innocuous door which held the captive. She keyed in a set of numbers and the door hissed open, revealing the tiny, cramped room with nothing but a small cot wedged into the corner. The young woman was still in a drugged stupor, her eyes closed, her cheeks unhealthily pale and clammy, her limbs twitching spasmodically as her mind grappled with the Force. The dried blood had knitted around her hip, crusting over the horrific wound which was exposed to the stuffy air of the tiny room. A searing black burn, surrounded by layers of puffy red skin, marked her hip cruelly, and the woman swallowed hard. The blonde woman knelt and deftly unstrapped the restraints holding the young Jedi's wrists to the sides of the cot, pulling the slender arms free from the welting red restraints. The Padawan shuddered and cried out a little, legs thrashing in the tangles of sheets, and the blonde woman looked at her worriedly. They weren't very far apart in age, with the black-haired Jedi perhaps being one or two years older than her. The blonde woman loaded a small syringe with blue liquid and located a vein on the arm of the unconscious woman. As the hypo needle sank into her vein, the woman shot straight up in bed, her newly restored conscious flooding her mind. A bolt of pain shook her small frame to the core, and she cried out, arching her back, as the younger woman led the unresisting Jedi down the hallway.

Ana's eyes, dark green flecked with facets of gold, snapped open. The Force flowed over her like a stream of warm water, and she struck out with it, sending the blonde woman skidding down the hallway and into a wall. Ana closed her eyes once more and located the knot of the Force, settled in her head, pounding in beat with her heart. The pain from her hip scorched once more, and she cut deeper runes into her palms with her nails, feeling the crusted blood break free and begin to ooze once more down her fingertips. The blonde woman was stirring groggily, and Ana kept her pinned there with the Force, extending the heel of her hand towards the young woman. "Where are we." Ana rasped, her voice a dry rattle that scratched her throat. The woman on the floor wriggled and tried to move, but Ana's face was a mask of determined calm as her hip throbbed painfully.

"O-on a small p-planet," The girl choked out. "W-waiting for y-y-your Master."

All energy drained from Ana when she heard that one word – _Master_. Ana bent with great difficulty, her vision blurring into multicolored streaks, and grabbed the barrel of the gun latched onto the woman's hip. The weight of the weapon felt good and solid in her hands, but her vision took an eternity to settle. The blonde woman looked fearfully at those slightly disoriented gold-flecked green eyes, fearing them more perhaps than the chilly blue orbs that had wooed her to come aboard with him. There was no pity in Xanatos's eyes, but there was a forceful determination in Ana's, something cold and heartless and made the blonde woman cry harder. And then, just when she was sure that the wounded Padawan would surely kill her, the black-haired Padawan made her way down the hallway, gripping onto the smooth metal walls with her nails. She left bloodied smears from where her nails had sliced her palms, and the woman sobbed as she watched the young Jedi leave, dragging her left leg behind her as she left. It was several minutes later, when she heard the automatic hiss of the hatchway opening, when she dared to get up.

* * *

><p>Qui-Gon stood resolutely against the bland brown landscape, his neutral colored clothing and dark boots melting into the background. But it was those eyes, full of cold, hardened fury, his jaw set tightly as he waited for someone to emerge from the ship, those eyes which struck mortal terror into the heart of any man. There was nothing, and then the hatchway cracked open, a black slice cutting a rectangular opening, widening into a dark maw which yawned open. A small figure – small from this distance – stepped from the ship, a quick, confident stride and easy gait marking him as Xanatos. Qui-Gon didn't move, simply stayed as still as a rock while his adversary came closer, watching the smirk settle on the younger Jedi's features. "Well, well, well," Xanatos said brightly, "You finally arrived, old man. I was wondering if you decided not to show, to just leave your Padawan behind."<p>

"I wouldn't leave Ana behind," Qui-Gon said firmly. "I wouldn't leave anyone behind in that ship of yours."

"Mm," Xanatos purred, his sneer widening. "But do you know what I think? I think you wouldn't leave her behind because you have a special place in that granite soul of yours for that scruffy little girl." He began to circle Qui-Gon like a caged panther, his icy blue eyes never leaving his former mentor's deep blue ones.

"No man has a soul made of stone. Only his emotions are frozen." Qui-Gon quoted, reciting a proverb that had been in Xanatos's handbook as a child. The younger man reacted angrily, his pale skin stretched over his jaw as he gritted his teeth.

"Do you deny it?" Xanatos said, finally stopping when his back was to his ship once more. Their faces were very close, and Qui-Gon could feel the fury pent up in the younger man's heart. "Do you deny that you feel for her? Love her like you never loved me?"

Qui-Gon thought back to her confession last night – could it possibly have been last night? Only twenty four hours ago, she had come to him, soaking wet and broken, dredging up her last remnants of strength to break down the final barrier between them. And he tried to examine the new, raw, powerful feeling in his chest that tore hatefully at him whenever he thought of Ana being locked inside that ship, away from him. It was a foreign feeling to him, and it wasn't the trust he felt for Ana. It was deeper than trust, a cemented bond between the pair that linked them irretrievably, a mutual attraction that would rage like wildfire if left unattended and desperate. Xanatos saw the change flutter over his former Master's eyes, a deep sense of calm shrouding those stormy blue eyes.

"I do not deny it."

The fight began with a sudden, harsh move as Xanatos withdrew his lightsaber and activated it within the blink of an eye. But before his hand had even thumbed the button on his lightsaber, Qui-Gon had already assumed his defensive position, the long green 'saber purring in his hands. The two weapons clashed together in a shower of electrical sparks that withered and died on the dusty ground, the sensation jarring up their arms as they twisted their lightsabers free of the shocking embrace. And then they were together again, wrists and elbows protesting at the rapid change of pace and speed, the blurring movements between the stripes of color, light green and crimson tangled in a deadlock. Steadily, surely, slowly, Qui-Gon pushed him backwards towards the safety of his ship, his handsome features a mask of concentration. The Force was humming around him like an electrical current, tingling the hair on his head and setting every nerve alight with a spark of power. Xanatos saw the change, and the snarl on his face erupted from his throat. The two were locked in a battle, the Force dark and dangerous around the pair. They both felt the current shift, knew this battle was different from any other battle between them, both emotional and physical. Because, this time, they were fighting _for_ something, not against something. Xanatos was fighting for the years he spent under the crushing weight of Qui-Gon's non-approval, or so he thought; he was fighting for revenge, for bloody and horrific death. Qui-Gon was fighting for life, to spare the life of his Padawan, of Ana, of his friend, of the wonderful woman who he had come to know and love.

How long they stayed there, battling each other, none of their strokes touching the muscled bodies, neither of them knew. But they both heard the rough, cracked voice snapping through the air like the piercing shatter of a circle breaking:

"Stop!"

And only the Force knows why they did, both in the same movement, the same split second. Their frenzied motions stopped, both chests heaving, hearts hammering as they faced whatever had told them to stop their war, halt their angry movements. They both turned in unison, eyes flicking to the ragged figure in the hatchway, a blaster in her hand, one dark-green eye to the scope. Qui-Gon felt his heart do a strange somersault in his chest as he saw the sight of his exhausted Padawan, her face whiter than any color white he had ever seen, her dark eyes pain-ridden portals to her tormented body. But her hand was steady, and even though she leaned against the side of the doorway, she was still standing, her barrel pointed straight at Xanatos. The dark Jedi finally laughed breathlessly, a rabid, painful sound. "Your girl has spite, Jinn!" He said mirthlessly, still trying to catch his breath. "She'll be a pretty toy to play with when I have the time!"

He moved, his lightsaber moving to place a killing stroke across Qui-Gon's throat, and then the bullet cracked through the air. He yelped, hitting the dirt face-first, his lightsaber deactivating the moment it touched the ground. Qui-Gon jerked his fingers almost impatiently, and the lightsaber shot across the dry terrain, rolling to a stop almost a hundred feet away. The younger Jedi expelled one little moan between his teeth, a taut sound of life escaping, and his fingers touched his tunic, skating over the sticky patch on his side. Already his frozen blue eyes were darting frantically, unable to move from the immobilizing pain. His eyes rolled back and he lay still, fingers twitching spasmodically. Qui-Gon spared one final look at the dying man on the ground, and then took off towards the ship, towards his Padawan, towards his Ana.

She had sunk down to the corner of the hatchway, leaning her head against her shoulder, her hip sending her into a downward spiral of consciousness and pain. The barrel of the blaster scorched her palm when she released it, and she wasn't sure if it was from heat or from the contact with her bloodied palms. She felt the comforting growl of her Master, and she felt instantly safe, despite the ravaging pains tearing at her body. She felt his big, calloused hands pick her up gently, cradling her small, broken body close to his chest, full of vibrant life, and she closed her eyes, allowing the heat and unfiltered life to flow into her paralyzed limbs. The Force slipped out of her grasp completely as she gave up the fight to stay conscious, and Qui-Gon held her close, marveling at the sight of her alive. Not well, but alive. And for the first time in his life, he felt his own broken circle begin to mend as he carried her back to the ship, back to the anxious Marcus who was waiting impatiently. His circle was mended – but Ana's had broken afresh.

The sleek ship had barely left the planet before the blonde woman ran outside, running over to her savior and damnation, dropping to her knees next to his prone form. She lay an ear on his chest, a thumb to his pulse, and listened intently, hearing the weak thread of life pulsing through his veins. She opened his jaws and rammed a small cake of some sort of crumbling yellow powder down his throat, forcing him to swallow, thumping his chest anxiously. For a long moment, nothing happened. And then his back arched, his breath sucked in between his cheeks, and one frosty blue eyes opened.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Well, I have my Muse back! Aren't you glad? Now, I have to warn you – this book will not end happily. BUT! There will be a sequel. I can promise at least two chapters after this one, so please tell me what you think. This series is going to be a trilogy, because I have been struck by a bolt of inspiration to make these stories UTTERLY EPIC. So, anyway, PLEASE review and tell me what you think! _


	21. Chapter 21: Only One Option

She fisted the sheets, back snapping into an arc as she howled, a terrifying shriek of pain as she tried to stifle the sound with her back molars. Restraints, thin black straps circling her thighs, knees, elbows, forearms, chest, and neck, kept her tightly in place, allowing her to writhe in pain but never to be free of the icy grips. The Force was gone – Qui-Gon was gone. She couldn't feel either of them; there was nothing but an unending, even, constant pain that tore savagely at her left hip and burst into frenzied flames whenever she breathed. The synth-flesh solution had to be applied every hour, for her tortured throes kept upsetting the careful web of artificial skin, masking the horrendous wound beneath it. Injections of bacta were threaded through her forearm, and a patch of bacta was covering the gouged flesh, clouding her thoughts with the sickly sweet scent, cloyingly sweet, invading her mind with sticky fingers of nightmares. Again and again she fell helplessly to the thick shrouds of darkness that accompanied the drugs they gave her, and every time she was forced to take those hated pills, she dreamed. The dreams varied in only two ways – it was either Wathearu falling once again, dying in her arms, or it was Qui-Gon dueling Xanatos. Only, in the latter dream, something horrible always happened. Instead of shooting Xanatos, she would shoot Qui-Gon, and watch as her new Master fell to her own bullet. Those were the worst – without fail, she would awaken with a fresh torrent of screams that disturbed not only herself, but the rest of the patients in the ward. She never cried – just thudded her head against the thin pillow, hoping to stop the random images of everyone she loved dying over and over.

Time and space stretched, elastic, and when she stumbled from the pain-laced fog of drug-induced sleep, she felt someone holding her hand. It wasn't the rough, solid, large hand of Qui-Gon, nor was it the small, wiry, vibrant palm of Wathearu. For what seemed like years, she puzzled over who it could be, and when she managed to crack open an eye, she saw a familiar blue-skinned friend sitting on the edge of her bed. There were words, but they were nonsensical, and her pain-filled brain was unable to translate the gibberish Clah'Diam was saying. So she gave up, allowing the ropes of sleep to tie her once more in a web of her own nightmares, and when she tore out of them again, she woke fully. There was a lingering taste of bacta in her mouth, but her vision was clear, and she saw her gold-eyed friend sitting near her, tracing patterns on the bed sheets. "Clah...Diam...?" Ana croaked, and the Twi'Lek spun around, gold-coin eyes huge and filled with tears.

"Oh, Ana," Clah'Diam said softly, squeezing her hands. "You're back. Oh, thank the Force. We were all doing our best – Master Jinn is worn out. Master Windu had to use some heavy Force-suggestion to even leave your bedside. He's up resting now, but knowing him, he'll be back before long."

Ana's mouth was dry as sandpaper as she tried to move, and found that her head was locked in some sort of mechanical helmet which kept her from moving. "What..." Ana tried to ask, but her voice failed her. "What happened?" She managed to say, in a voice barely above a whisper. Clah'Diam wrung her hands worriedly, and now that she could concentrate, Ana saw that she looked bad. Her normally beautiful, smooth blue complexion was rather pasty and unnaturally pale, and Ana could see the small freckles descending in a V pattern down her thick _lekku_. Clah'Diam pushed her knuckles into her eyes and sighed.

"Master Jinn wanted to take you back to Coruscant right away, but when he saw your injuries, he stopped at Iridonia to get you immediate medical assistance. Master Jinn did quite a bit to help you recover, but he only had limited supplies and he needed to have professional help. So, he turned you over to the medical staff on Iridonia. Unfortunately, the medical droids were improperly programmed, and they gave you a high amount of H4b, which knocked you out for a long time. For some reason, the sedative had an averse effect on you, and you've been fighting an infection ever since you returned to the Temple." Clah'Diam explained gently. Ana licked her lips and tried to move her head again, and Clah'Diam saw her predicament. With a quick look around to see if any medics were watching, the Twi'Lek's slender blue fingers unlatched and unbuckled the various implements used to keep her in place. "You were struggling quite a bit," Clah'Diam said dryly. "They didn't want you to hurt yourself."

"My leg..." Ana said hoarsely. "It burns..."

"Ana..." Clah'Diam said, and squeezed her hand in a fierce grip. "You have to be strong."

Ana opened one dark green eye and Clah'Diam saw the raw panic. "What?" Ana rasped.

"Your leg is very bad," Clah'Diam said, her gold-coin eyes spilling over with delicate tears. "They...They did the best they could. You have some machinery, but it's not bad. Honestly."

Ana didn't hear another word her friend said. Her trembling, questing fingers pushed aside the thin blanket, intent on finding the source of her pain, which was slicing through her leg like a hot brand. When she had exposed her left hip to the warm air of the infirmary, she willed herself to look at it.

Clah'Diam had been truthful – there was some machinery. It was hidden under the patch of synth-flesh, but Ana could feel the unnatural fluidity in her joint, the smooth lump on her hipbone, and she forced herself to look at it again. Pink skin was beneath a layer of ugly dead scabs, and Ana could see that there would be a scar – not a long scar, but a deep one. Perhaps three or four inches across, just an unnatural ridge where her hip should be. But the pain – kriff, the pain was monstrous. She let her head fall back against the pillow and closed her eyes, automatically reaching out to the Force. She felt it swallow her mind, and she almost blacked out, her vision curtaining with gray for a moment. When she came to, she saw that a medic was hovering over her and Clah'Diam was standing next to her. "You shouldn't have seen it," The medic said firmly. She was an older Jedi, with blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. "I'm sorry, Padawan Shaddem. Your leg will be functioning normally, but there will be pain associated with movement for a very long time."

Ana said nothing. Because she was thinking one thing: _What use is a crippled Jedi?_. As if reading her mind, Clah'Diam jumped in. "You're lucky you didn't lose the leg," She said hurriedly. "Force only knows what kept the lightsaber from passing straight through your body and cutting it off entirely. You escaped with just a scorch mark and a replaced joint. You're very, very lucky. And who knows? The Force may alleviate some of the pain if you are calm."

She didn't feel lucky. She knew why Xanatos hadn't cut off her leg. Because that pain would have faded. She could have dealt with that scar. But constant pain? Forever? Nothing to abate it except the Force? For the first time in her life, Ana doubted the Force. How could something she couldn't see take away this mind-hazing pain which consumed her? Ana closed her eyes, focusing on the smooth, slippery web of emotions around her, reaching out a mental hand to the comforting presence of the Force. It pulled at her hip, as if snagging on something, and the pain seemed to intensify rather than heal. She yelped aloud and lost her tentative grip on the Force entirely while she tried to gather herself. The medic sat down on one side of her bed, Clah'Diam on the other. Ana locked her jaw and pushed herself up a few inches, dealing with the bolt of pain that shot up her side, and adjusted her position. When she felt as though she had moderately recovered, she looked at Clah'Diam, her forest green eyes glossy with pain. "Qui-Gon," she panted. "I need Qui-Gon."

If Clah'Diam had any surprise about Ana addressing her Master without his title, she didn't show it. Instead, the medic got to her feet and left silently, leaving the two friends alone. Ana leaned back, feeling a sick sweat sheen her brow. "I can't do this, Clah'Diam," Ana whispered. "This is ... crazy."

"Yes, you can," Clah'Diam said, gripping her friend's hand hard. "You're the strongest, bravest person I know. You can push through this. Trust the Force. Reach out again, and try and let go of the pain."

Twice more she tried, and each time there was that peculiar snagging sensation, like a fishing line tangled in a log, before another knife of pain dug into her hip, greater than before. After the second try, she gave up the fight and blacked out momentarily, trying to skim the edge off her pain. When she clawed her way from the icy grips of unconsciousness, Clah'Diam was gone and Qui-Gon was there. He was dressed in a loose gray tunic, belted at the waist, and brown leggings. His outer cloak was missing, but his lightsaber hung at his hip as usual. Those beautiful blue eyes, trimmed with a smoky gray near the iris, locked onto hers and provided an anchor which she snatched onto greedily. But his face was drawn, the light lines around his eyes deepened from the stress of the past few days, and Ana felt his big, solid hands cradle her small, soft one. He stroked her temple with his knuckle, brushing the curve of her jaw, smoothing the shock of ebony hair away from her face, pushing back the spikes of blue-black out of her eyes. "Ana," He said, his baritone voice a deep, rich growl, granite wrapped with a silken bow. "Ana, look at me."

She did so.

She would never question him when he looked at her like that.

"Don't reach out to the Force. Reach out to me." He commanded, and Ana swallowed hard. The memory of the pain still lingered, but she was willing to try. Anything to get rid of the hateful pain. So she touched the thrumming hive of energy surrounding him like a golden halo, the peaks of the Force rippling around him. She connected with him perfectly, the two mental connections smoothing the snarled mess in her mind into a clean, crisp blankness. But when she felt his Force-signature pull a little at the pain around her hip, she let out a shriek of pain and gripped a handful of the sheets again, burying her teeth into her bottom lip. It was worse, now – the pain was cemented onto her mind, a branded, searing impression. This time, she did black out, fully and truly, and she drifted.

She remembered her last thought, however.

_I'm useless. _

* * *

><p>Mace Windu had seen Qui-Gon broken before.<p>

Just once.

The day he had returned from Telos IV, the day after his Padawan had betrayed him, he had seen the big, strong Jedi reduced to a shaking, storming, bitter, horrified mess. There had been tears then – and yes, there were tears now, but not for long. He had seen Qui-Gon's circle break once before, and he would rather be stampeded by a herd of wild Banthas than see his circle break again. Because a circle can only be broken so many times before the pieces can never reconnect, before the shattered scars overwhelm the once dutiful circle which was etched in his heart. And now, watching Qui-Gon sit beneath the tree, he realized that his circle was teetering again, on the verge of being completed, on the verge of being crushed.

Because Mace Windu knew something Qui-Gon didn't.

And he couldn't deny that gave him a small amount of satisfaction.

But it gave him no small amount of pity, as well.

For how many ways are there to tell a friend that he is in love? In denial, but still in love. That's what made it hurt so very much – because love, even when blocked, is stronger than hate run wild. It is the lowest, most driving, most painful of all emotions, the only single feeling which can save a life, kill a person, and entice a war all in one smoldering glare. The most base of all feelings, sensuality, protectiveness, fear, all wrapped up in a ever-changing quilt of textured emotions, love. Love, the conqueror. Love, the hated. Love, the feared. Love, the wonderful, beautiful, amazing, all-encompassing feeling which drove even the most calm, dedicated men and women out of their very souls and minds.

The very reason it was so important for a Jedi never to feel it.

And if Mace Windu had seen the signs before, he would have tried to stop it. Because you can't love without being loved, without some quid quo pro, without some give and take. And you can't love without being hurt. Just as a forest must be burned, a field must be scoured, a heart must be torn before any new growth can emerge. And the first seedlings had been sown when Qui-Gon had sparred with that girl, the two of them dueling for themselves, for their lost loved ones, for their own hatred of the Code and themselves.

"A circle broken, it is." Said a familiar voice near Mace's elbow. He looked down to see to wizened old form of Yoda, the withered green alien resting two gnarled paws on his gimer stick. "Become whole, two halves must. A Jedi and Padawan."

"It is forbidden," Mace said coldly. "They both know better. And with the Padawan's injuries and her blatant disobedience to both the Code and most of her orders, she would be wise to withdraw from her Master."

"Over distance, love grows, it does," Yoda said sagely. "A bad idea, I think, to leave one's Master. Trust, they have."

"Then what is to be done?" Mace asked, his cool gray eyes looking at the large Jedi sitting a good distance away.

"One thing to be done, I think." Yoda said calmly.

Far away in the infirmary, Ana was contemplating the same thing at the exact same time. Mouthing the words to herself.

_Leave the Order. _

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thoughts? (wicked grin)_


	22. Chapter 22: Never Looking Back

She gritted her teeth and rounded the last flight of steps.

Over the past two weeks, she had come to know a unique kind of torture concerning her connection with the Force and her injured leg. The pain was always there – constant, present, always hovering at the outskirts of her mind like a shadowing friend. The only time the pain crippled her and sent her flying into unconsciousness was when she tried to ease the pain through the Force. For the past two weeks, scientists and healers had prodded, poked, studied, and frowned at the wound, examining the long, ugly pink-gray scar which now marred her tanned hip. There was no lasting damage, other than a surface scar and perhaps some slight pain accompanying movement, they had assured her at first. But when she began exercising her mind using the Force, the pain became apparent. Nobody could explain to her why this wound had so much effect on her Force-sensitivity. Jedi had suffered far worse, having entire limbs replaced with cybernetics, sometimes even brains and hearts. This was a lightsaber wound, true, but that was nothing new; not a soul could explain to Ana why she couldn't ease her pain using the Force.

Using the Force in general had become extensively hard, intricate despite the Force's simple nature. She had to keep her mind completely off the pain in her hip – which was difficult, seeing as the pain was consistently there and always chafing at her, like an itch she couldn't scratch. Ana had spent the better part of ten days training herself to use the Force without numbing the pain in her hip, and it hadn't been easy. There was an old saying: You can't teach an old Wookiee new tricks. It was true; Ana had to re-learn all of her Force training in a matter of days, teaching herself how to use the Force without releasing her pain away. And by doing so, emotions she couldn't release were still biting at her, tearing away small pieces of her soul as she lay there helplessly. Without meditation, she saw how useless it was as she simmered her pain and frustration, barely managing to keep it at a low boil. She had never liked meditation, thought it old-fashioned and tiring, but now she saw how much she craved it, the simple act of clearing her mind. Now, clearing her mind was a painstaking, arduous process which usually ended with her collapsing in a quivering heap, bathed in sweat.

Two days ago, she had finally been allowed out of the wards and back to her room, under strict orders of no training until she felt she was ready. Obstinately, Ana went out with her lightsaber the very hour and set a training droid to 'low'. By some dramatic irony, the training droid was the exact same one which had gifted her with that mild burn across her lower back so many months ago, the same droid she had destroyed ruthlessly. Now, repaired and buffed to a high sheen, the droid came at her with a vengeance. Within moments, even at a low setting, the spar had her reverting to the Force, causing her to drop to her knees and black out from the sheer, white-hot sheet of pain which swept her body as she automatically let go of her emotions. The emotions, along with the nagging pain on her left hip, seemed unwilling to depart from her memory, unwilling to finish tormenting her with nightmares and frustrated dreams.

How long Ana had stayed on the training floor, numb with pain and exhaustion from this simple spar, she had not the slightest clue. She still didn't. But she did remember the soft, shuffling noise coming behind her, and her mind had prickled unpleasantly with the uncanny feeling of déjà vu. Only this time, Yoda was approaching her when she wasn't mourning the loss of her former Master; she was stricken with grief concerning her uselessness towards the Force. She had heard the low grunt as the ancient sage had sat down near her. "Slow, healing is," Yoda had croaked in his queer manner of speaking. "Hard, also, is it not?"

Ana had forced herself upright, pushing herself upwards and careful not to touch the teeming web of the Force humming near her. Instead, she had run her hands through her blue-black hair, felt the short locks slide through her fingers. Her hair had grown some, and now it swept her collar, giving her an untidy, unruly sort of look, instead of the dangerous spikes which had adorned her head before. Her dark green eyes were flat and impassionate as she sat near Yoda, gritting her teeth against the pain in her hip. "Yes, Master Yoda," Ana had said wearily, kneading her temples. "It most certainly is."

"A decision, have you come to?" Yoda had said in his odd growl. "Pondering, you have been, for days. Over what, Padawan?"

"My life," Ana had said simply. "Wondering how useful a Jedi is when they can't use the Force automatically. I'm no better than a babe in the crèche if I can't use the Force every second of every day. I've been wondering..." She had swallowed the hot, bitter lump in her throat. "Wondering if being a Jedi is the only path for me."

"Strange, paths are," Yoda had observed. "Take one, and fail. Succeed, you might, on a second path." He had looked at her shrewdly, his bright blue eyes piercing hers. "Not all, you have been thinking about, Padawan. Leave the Order, you have thought. But your Master, you have thought about also."

Ana had felt her shoulders slump. Thinking back, she had to smile at herself for thinking she could hide her emotions from anyone, especially Yoda. "Qui-Gon is not a Master to me," Ana had admitted slowly, almost shamefully. "And I don't think he ever will be. That's another reason to...take another path."

"Sometimes, words hard to say, they are," Yoda had said quietly. "But words are just words, mm?"

Ana had passed her tongue over her lips and chewed the lower one thoughtfully. "It would be another reason to leave the Order," She finally said, and the words had tasted funny on the air, like too much salt in a soup. _Leave the Order_. Such a stupid idea. But even now, mounting the stairs, they did not seem so strange to her, so alien. She could leave this metallic planet, seek her fortune elsewhere, make a new life, as somebody else. Life has many paths, she told herself as she tackled the last step before she reached her apartment. Life has many paths, and it is up to you to decide them.

She slotted her cardkey into the door and pressed her palm against the omni-sensor, hearing the door hiss open. She limped inside, locking her jaw against the pain, and went to her room. Her blankets and pillow would remain behind, along with her set of dress robes. The only thing she honestly wished to bring were her little trinkets; other than that, she had adhered profusely to the idea of Jedi not owning material items. So, she went to her windowsill and examined her tiny objects which had done so much to pull her from her horrors about Wathearu. She stroked the multicolored feather, passed the dull line of her sea glass against her palm, and clinked the two rocks together, slipping all four items into her pocket. The other flotsam and jetsam she left for some cleaning droid to throw away. Ana clenched the four items in her palm hard, once, and then released them slowly, hissing a breath between her teeth as she did so. There were two people she had to stop and see before she appeared before the Council for her appointment this afternoon. Two very important goodbyes she had to make.

She got to her feet unsteadily and went to the door, trying to compose what she would say to Clah'Diam. But before she could rearrange her thoughts, she heard a frantic banging on the door, and she opened it, confused. In front of her, her remarkable gold-tawny eyes brimming with tears, her rich blue skin paler than she had ever seen it, was Clah'Diam. "Ana!" The Twi'Lek sobbed, throwing herself at her best friend. "Oh, Ana, I went to the ward and they said you had left, and then I checked with Qui-Gon and he said you went to your room, and that awful Jeterra said you were leaving the Order! It's a lie, right?"

Clah'Diam looked at Ana, searching her face, and then the Twi'Lek's shoulders dropped, her face sinking. Ana couldn't bear to look at her friend. "No. It's not a lie." Ana managed to say, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"But...Ana..." Clah'Diam said, sounding hurt and confused. "Why?"

Ana ran her hands through her hair and dug her knuckles into her eyes, trying to force back the hot tears stinging her eyes. "Lots of reasons, Clah'Diam, and my injury is the least of them," Ana said tiredly. "Remember? There's many paths in life, and it's up to us to find out which one is the path our heart must take." She swallowed hard and looked down at her short, plump friend, saw that she was holding back ragged sobs, and hugged her friend tightly. "I'm sorry, Clah'Diam. I really am. But I'm leaving the Order today, at noon."

And then Clah'Diam said three words which forced Ana to give up her cool façade and break down crying.

"What about Qui-Gon?"

Tears ran down her face, thick and fast, dripping off her chin, and Ana cuffed them away hastily, taking a shuddering breath. "I don't know, Clah'Diam. I haven't seen him the past few days, and I've kept it from him. I don't know anything anymore, Clah'Diam. I feel...I feel like a child, trying to depend on others to show me direction." She said, and the two friends gripped each other, Clah'Diam sobbing openly into her friend's shoulder, Ana burying her face in her friend's neck. They stood there, holding each other, cementing the bond they had formed through friendship so many years ago, when they were both initiates, and Ana was the first to pull away. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sniffed hard. "I h-have to go see Qui-Gon," Ana mumbled. "Clah'Diam...Please. Don't forget me."

"Never," Clah'Diam swore. And then she took Ana's hand in a powerful grip that belied her small size, their fingers interlacing. They locked eyes, and through the blur of tears the two connected with a special kind of strength, a sort of unbreakable bond which can be concreted only through time. "I, Clah'Diam Martoon, do hereby swear to remember and love my best friend, La'Ana Shaddem." She said quietly, and Ana felt the last, final threads of their friendship twining together.

"I, La'Ana Shaddem, do hereby swear to remember and love my best friend, Clah'Diam Martoon," Ana whispered, and hugged her friend fiercely one last time. "Stay safe, stay strong," She said softly.

"May you find a joyful life," Clah'Diam said, her lower lip wobbling again. As Ana straightened and began limping down the hallway, her shoulders still trembling with sobs, Clah'Diam whispered something to herself. "May the Force be with you, Ana, you crazy girl."

* * *

><p>He knew it in his heart, in his soul, in his mind. It was in the very air he breathed, the very blood in his veins, every particle of him told him that she was leaving.<p>

Permanently.

Irrevocably.

Forever.

But still he denied it, clung to the fragile, dying hope that she would stay by him, always, train to be a Master and then somehow, someway, the two of them would have a happy ending. He clung to it selfishly, jealously, hiding it within his chest like the fading ember of a fire, secreting the spark in his chest and trying to ignore every fiber of his being. He tried to lose himself in meditation, tried to take in the beautiful colors of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, tried to feel the spray of the cool water on his face. But it was no use, and he knew it, knew it with every inch of him, and the spark died in his chest the instant she limped in the room.

Force, she was beautiful.

He didn't know how he had missed it before, the way her mouth formed a soft pink rosebud, those warm golden flecks in her dark green eyes. Her hair was longer, growing daily, and now she no longer looked like the icy, chiseled warrior who had spat at him like an injured cat when he had first encountered her. She resembled a smaller, frailer woman, someone infinitely more delicate and quiet, a woman who has lost all fight in her life and has resigned to do something horrible. And those eyes, Sith, those stunning green eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, held him immobile as she limped closer to him, the multicolored lights dancing across her small form. And as she drew closer to him, he realized for what felt like the first time how small she was, how breakable, like a polished glass vase. Her curves were slender and light, and he wondered – not for the last time – what his hands would feel like resting on her hips, fitting against the curve of her waist. What it would feel like to run his hands through those short, silken locks, run his calloused fingers down her velvet skin.

She struggled with what to say, and he alleviated her mind by simply saying, "Why." It wasn't a question, not by far. He knew the answer, or thought he knew.

Ana looked up, confused, slim brows drawing together. "Why what?" She asked. He fingered her Padawan braid, wrapping the short braid around his finger, his knuckles coming within the barest contact with her cheek.

"Why are you leaving." He asked, no, said, and she lowered her eyes, dropping her chin to her chest. "No, no, Ana, look at me," He ordered, and he slid a finger beneath the shelf of her jaw, tilting her chin upwards, sending an unruly sheaf of black hair skating against her cheek. Her eyes were wet and glossy with unshed tears, and they locked onto his dark, smoky cerulean eyes as though there were nothing else in the world.

"I don't know," Ana confessed. "I ... I need a new life. I'm useless as a Jedi, useless as a Padawan. I need to be something to someone."

"You are something to someone," Qui-Gon rumbled, and Ana bit back a sob. "You are not useless. You have the makings of greatness in you – I can feel it, standing here, next to you. You are destined for greatness."

"But perhaps not Jedi greatness," Ana said softly, meeting his eyes once again. "Qui-Gon, I'm sorry." She tried to draw back, but his strong arm encircled her face and drew her tightly to him, his dark eyes lowering until their lips were inches apart.

"No. I will not accept that for an answer. Tell me, why are you leaving the Order?"

In answer, she kissed him.

It hadn't been planned, it hadn't been thought out in the slightest. She had opened her mouth to make a well-reasoned argument that might have convinced him, but she decided in a split second that she was going to do something she had been longing to do. Her small fingers reached up cautiously and met around the back of his neck, kissing him lightly, sweetly, softly, feeling their fates twine together even as she did so. His hands, those big, strong hands, cupped her face, made her feel so safe and secure by this simple action. The kiss was lazy and syrupy, filling a need and a void which had been yawning open ever since the two of them had locked eyes. And there was that unquenchable fire, that smoldering flame ready to lash out and ignite a heated, unstoppable connection, and she kissed him fervently, for the first and last time.

She broke off, nuzzling his bearded cheek, and looked at him. He brushed a tear from her eye with his knuckle, and she swallowed hard. "That's why, Qui-Gon," She whispered. "I can't stay here because I love you." She had to laugh a little at herself, a laugh twisting with her tears like some strange, horned, beautiful flower. "I've been so stupid, so blind..." She said, and looked up at him again. "So blind," She repeated. "I'm in love with you, Qui-Gon. I have been for so long, I don't know when I wasn't."

He tilted his head and actually nipped her neck, a low, feral growl issuing unbidden from his chest, protective emotions welling up in his with a primal ferocity. "Ana..." He said, and oh, his voice made her melt into nothingness, a puddle which could be trodden upon. That deep, baritone growl, edged with velvet and gravel, and she wanted to hear him growl again, wanted to hear him reduced to a beast whenever he was near her. But she let her head rest on his chest, heard his heart beating, and closed her eyes, allowing tears to spill onto her cheeks yet again. He whispered in her ear, his beard tickling her cheek and neck, "Ana, I love you."

Those three words, damning, bonding, permanent, true, steadfast. Three words which connected their circles, their fates and destinies irreparably melded. Three words which could damn him, curse him, and tear his very soul from his body. Three words which warmed his heart like nothing else.

She stood on tiptoe and pressed her final kiss against his lips, this one chaste, and looked at him. "I'm sorry, Qui-Gon."

She left, leaving him in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, with nothing but the love in his heart and the pain in his mind.

* * *

><p>"This appears to be a rash and rather shortsighted move, Padawan Shaddem," Master Windu said, steepling his long brown fingers, his black eyes piercing her. She was standing – with permission, because she didn't think she could get up from her kneel without looking like an invalid – in front of the Council. She was dressed in civilian clothes; where she had gotten them, the Council had no idea, but she looked surprisingly natural out of her Padawan robes. Dark leggings were loose on her long legs, and a pale blue tunic exposed her arms to the hot sun, a pair of polished brown boots laced tightly and neatly. She looked meek and remorseful, but there was a simmering resolution that burned within her – they could all feel it, despite her weak connection to the Force.<p>

"I assure you respectfully, Master Windu, I have thought this proposition out long and hard, and there is no other way," Ana said quietly, her voice echoing unnaturally in the large, glass-paned room. "I wish to withdraw my position at the Academy and seek my path elsewhere. My current status with my injury is linked with my connection to the Force, and I fear I may be a danger on missions of importance if the Force is not at my disposal." She bowed her head.

"Your injury is not the only reason you are leaving, is it not?" Master Ziverri said, his quick gold eyes fastening on her. Slowly, Ana's chin rose, and she looked blankly out at the circle of waiting Councilmembers, her eyes looking to nothing.

"I am leaving the Order because I am in love with my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn."

Muted shock rippled through the room, but there was no open gasps. It was not entirely uncommon for a Padawan to fall in love with their Master; generally, it was a temporary and remedial thing, but there was deep passion in Ana's voice as she began to talk. "I fear that I may act on these emotions, and cause me to act in a manner unbefitting a Jedi Padawan. Therefore, I wish to leave the Order and travel to a planet far away, where I hope my eventual feelings for Master Jinn will die down. As for Master Jinn..." She trailed off, and then shook herself. "That must be his own particular trial in the Force. He must seek his path, and I must seek mine."

"Honorable, your request is," Yoda croaked from his seat. "And granted, it also is."

Ana Shaddem left the Temple that day, never to return, nor look back.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Finally! The end! Please, please, leave a review! The summary and title for the sequel will be as follows:**

* * *

><p><strong><em>A Healing Circle<em>**

It's been a decade since Ana last walked out of the Jedi Temple, never to look back. But now, her former Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, shows up at her doorstep with a new Padawan and a "routine" mission to fulfill. But between discovering their old feelings for one another, will this just be another love ending in heartbreak for both of them?


End file.
